The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2401 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“I can’t believe these men are so stupid,” said Stella putting down the Guardian in an untidy heap.

“Which men are these, then?” I asked frowning at her indifference to my paper and I hadn’t seen it yet.

“The Israelis and Palestinians—why can’t they talk out their differences?”

“Perhaps their differences are too great to bridge.”

“Oh come off it, nothing can be that great.”

“If you’re dealing with fanatics you can’t talk with them because they run on pure emotion,” perhaps that should have been impure emotion because much of it is based upon hatred and anger.

“Aren’t most decisions based upon emotional things?”

“So they say.”

“Not sure I believe them,” so Stella was a sceptic was she.

“So what would you like for lunch, ladies?” asked David.

“I fancy...”

“See, an emotional decision.”

“Huh, hardly compares to Arabs and Israelis slinging high explosive about.”

“That’s emotional too, they’re both frightened the other will steal a march on each other plus they’re trying to keep even hotter heads on board.”

“It’s all pathetic.”

“I agree, it’s pointless but like the badger cull, done to appear to be offering a solution, even if it seems to be very short term.”

“There’ll never be peace out there,” was David’s opinion.

I was tempted to answer, ‘as long as people think that there won’t be one.’

“What about all these paedos, then?”

I was about to ask what he meant when my mobile rang. “Can ye come into thae university?”

“When?”

“As soon as ye like.”

“What now?”

“I ken noo why we gave ye a doctorate.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Daddy.”

“No? Weel get yer arse doon here noo.”

He rang off and I thought I’d better show willing, he is my boss after all. I left David and Stella squabbling about lunch and the Middle east, neither of which seemed presently soluble. I parked in the staff car park displaying my permit and went in search of Tom.

He was in his office with a newspaper tossed onto the floor, I picked it up and saw the story he’d been reading before he threw it down. I could see a headline about police prosecuting six hundred paedophiles. He saw me squinting at it, “Ye’d better read it.”

“What’s going on, Daddy?”I wasn’t sure I needed any further intrigues at the moment.

“Read yon article.”

I did, apparently the National Crime Agency had arrested over six hundred people who’d been viewing or collecting child pornography, this included doctors, teachers, carers, scout masters and a host of others. One doctor apparently had over a million pictures of children some of whom were being abused.

“Okay, it’s pretty sick but you didn’t drag me in here to tell me about it, did you?”

“Remember those images they planted on yer computer?”

“I didn’t actually see any of them.”

“They were doonloaded on oor computers.”

“What Emma’s computer?”

“No, thae dean’s.”

“What?”

“Ye heard me.”

“How would she get access to his computer?”

“It could happen.”

“So what’s happened?”

“He’s been arrested an’ taken for questionin’.”

“You don’t think he did it?”

“Och, I dinna ken whit tae think ony mair.”

“You don’t actually think he downloaded them, do you?”

He looked very sad and shrugged.

“Surely you can’t believe the dean is into abusing children?”

“I dinna ken whit tae believe.”

“So how long is this going to take, before they realise he’s innocent.”

“He’s been suspended indefinitely.”

“But surely they’ll realise it was a mistake?”

“Hoo wud I ken?”

“Sad this may be, what’s it got to do with me?”

“I’ve a favour tae ask ye.”

Here we go, how do I say no without hurting his feelings? “What?”

“I want ye tae stand in f’ me.”

“Stand in for you—where?”

“Here—I want ye to become actin’ professor o’ biological sciences.”

“What are you going to be doing?”

“Actin’ dean.”

“For how long?”

“Tae keep things tickin’ over until we can sort oorsel’s oot.”

“I—uh...”

“Ye’ll be paid f’ it.”

That was the least of my problems and I told him so. “I’m sure there are others who must be more deserving than I.”

“I want tae keep things as they are.”

“Ah, but I might have ideas of my own.”

“Aye, sae ye micht—but ye’ll sit tight.”

“Will the university council approve it? I mean me acting up?”

“Wha d’think proposed you?”

“You I expect, Daddy.”

“Aye, well think again because it wisnae me,” that surprised me.

“I’m rather inexperienced to be a professor.”

“Aye well this’ll gie ye experience.”

“What about the woodland centre?”

“Whit aboot it?”

“Wasn’t that my priority before all this happened?”

“Ye’ll hae tae let Dan act f’ ye, he kens whit ye want.”

“I’d have preferred to do it myself as director.”

“Ye hae tae learn tae delegate. Yer responsibility is tae protect thae department’s budget and reputation.”

“But I’ve never done that sort of thing before.”

“Time ye learnt then. Ye can run a household, so ye can run a department.”

“What? That’s hardly a real comparison is it?”

“Jest a question o’ scale, principle’s thae same.”

“Scale, you’ve a budget of millions, my budget for housekeeping is hundreds occasionally thousands.”

“Whit’s thae problem?”

“I’m still trying to get my head round all this, it’s all a bit much for one brain cell to deal with. The responsibility to start.”

“Yer a bank director, ye control millions if not billions o’ people’s money, this will be a cakewalk.”

“Some cake,” I muttered and he snorted.

“Richt,” he said glancing at his watch, “ye can tak me tae lunch tae celebrate.”

We agreed we wouldn’t talk about things academic over lunch, which gave me a chance to air my concerns about Neal. “I cannot believe he would either kill or drive Gloria to kill herself, even if he had doubts about the paternity of their daughter.”

“No, but it micht hae played on her mind, especially if there were some groonds f’ question.”

“I couldn’t see Gloria having someone else, can you?”

“Ye’d ken mair o’ that being a lassie, but I’d hae tae agree wi’ ye, it seems oot o’ character.”

“What about Neal then? Surely, you can’t believe what they’re saying about him?”

“He’s a deep ain an’ a man wha feels deceived can get awfy upset.”

“I know he’s got a bit of a temper, but killing or precipitating her suicide is something else and I’d have thought would require some time to plan, not the actions of an angry man.”

“Och, we’ll mak a scientist o’ ye yet,” he grinned but I suspect he was feeling anything but jocular given the potential for two scandals to hit the university at the same time. No wonder he wants me to head the department, he feels he can trust me—goodness, I hope I don’t mess up—oh poo, I feel sick. I ran out to the toilets only just making it in time. I watched the lettuce from my tuna salad floating on top of the water through tear filled eyes. I just hoped I could cope.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2402 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Let me get this straight, the dean is suspended by the council, Tom is now acting dean of the faculty of science, and you’re acting head of department of biological sciences, to wit, an acting professor.”

“That’s about it.” I confirmed.

“I’d have thought they only had acting professors in drama schools,” added my husband.

“Ha ha, very punny.”

“I thought it was quite good,” he defended.

“Yeah, well you would. Remember, self-adulation is no recommendation.”

“You cut me to the quick.”

“Wuss.”

“I don’t wish to sound too complaining but aren’t you supposed to be the gentle sex not casting nasturtiums at me for my gentleness?”

When in doubt or losing the argument, distract your opponent—which is what he was doing. “That doesn’t stop you being a wuss.”

“True,” he said, “was that ever in doubt? But as Mr Kipling said...”

“I make exceedingly good cakes,” I interrupted quoting a line from a cake advert.

“No, you clot, the other Mr Kipling, good old Rudyard, who if memory serves me right, said, ‘The female of the species is more deadly than the male.’”

“Depends on the species.”

“Cathy, he was being allegorical or something.”

“So, what about, ‘Each man kills the thing he loves,’” I riposted.

“There comes a tide in the affairs of man when taken at the flood...”

“Okay, a Kipling and a Shakespeare outdo an Oscar.”

“Is that it?” he complained.

“Okay, you asked for it, ‘I must down to the beach again to the lonely sea and sky, I left my shoes and socks there, I wonder if they’re dry.’”

“Very good, might create a spike in your popularity.”

“So, you’re as badly read as I am,” I conceded.

“That depends on what you haven’t read.”

“Most things from the Bible to Trainspotting.”

“I thought you knew your Bible pretty well.”

“That usually means I know it better than you.”

“I’m not denying that, who’s going to win the Tour?”

“Nibali, why?”

“Just wondered if he had a wife who was cleverer than he.”

“No idea.”

“Goodness there are things you don’t know.”

“What are you on about?”

“My uxorial encyclopaedia.”

“You’re mixing your cultures somewhat.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, uxor is Latin and encyclopaedia is a French misconstruction of Greek.”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“I—um, used to read the dictionary.” I felt a warm wave break over me and was glad the light was out so he couldn’t see me blushing.

“You used to read the dictionary?”

“Yeah, okay, I’m a self-confessed nerd.”

“No wonder you’re good at crosswords.”

“That means better than you, doesn’t it?”

“Okay, so you’re better than I am in most things. I admit it, type it up and I’ll sign it. I admit my geni-arse of a wife is better ’an me, besides I never out argue you do I? Mainly because you like to have the last word and anything I say in response is actually the start of a new argument.”

I lay perfectly still and quiet pretending to be asleep.

“Cathy—Cathy?”

I continued in feigning sleep.

“Cathy,” he hissed and I had to do controlled breathing to stop myself sniggering and giving the game away. “Oh sod it then.” I felt him turn over to go to sleep while I lay there celebrating my pyrrhic victory in silence. Half an hour later I was still awake and Simon was completely zonked. Serves me right I suppose.

I was still concerned about the council asking me to act up for Tom so he could hold the faculty together. I also heard that they’d offered it to him twenty years ago but he’d refused because he wanted to be directly involved in the development of young minds, he said it kept him young. In my case I was beginning to feel it might lead to premature ageing as I wondered if I’d bitten off far more than I could chew.

Of course that all depended upon how long the dean was suspended but further researches suggested it wasn’t just a random find or even a nasty informant dobbing him in, the arrests were purportedly about people sharing images on the internet. Looked at in that light it seemed far more serious and less likely to be a mistake such as happening on a site by accident.

I could still remember vividly the first time I called up a real porn site, it had all sorts of unsavoury images of men and women doing all sorts of sexual acts with each other in ways I’d never have considered physically possible. The Karma Sutra could learn a lot from some of these sites.

As if I’d been hit by an electric shock I was jolted back to reality, blushed and checked no one had seen me before I deleted the website and cleared my histories from the computer—only then did I feel safe. In reality, no one should have seen it or known it was there. I reflected on how I felt about witnessing such drivel and answer came back unequivocally—dirty. I felt soiled by it. I wondered if that was the reaction of other women, or just me. Reassuringly, they felt the same.

My mind went back to puzzling if the dean was a dirty old man and that led to my reconsidering Neal’s position. Could he really be responsible for Gloria’s death and was that the reason he lost the plot, or was he simply overwhelmed by his grief? Did he challenge the paternity of his own baby? If they remembered it happening throughout, then it’s pretty certain to have happened. However, one of the reasons memory is not accepted without confirmation is the existence of false memory syndrome and how easy it is for it to be planted unwittingly in the mind of susceptible individuals. Apparently a constant worry for therapists—however, I wasn’t one so it shouldn’t concern me—or should it?

Was it my responsibility to search for such things in my defence of my ex colleague, Neal. Was he now one of my staff or had his employment by us ceased on ill health grounds? Perhaps as well, had his questioning introduced a risk of police induced false memory; where they construct images in the mind of the accused and insist the person agree and sign the statement even if it was untrue. A form of bullying I suppose.

The more my sleepy mind wrestled with these conundrums the more confused it got eventually finding peace an hour or so later when sleep through exhaustion intervened.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2403 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Waking to the news on the radio, it was full of a story about an airliner that had been shot down flying over Ukraine with nearly three hundred souls on board, I felt like crying. It was the same Malaysia airways company that had the plane disappear a few months ago, which is still missing. According to the reports it looked as if the rebels in Ukraine had shot it down with a Russian ground to air missile. The more the experts and anyone else who had an opinion, it seemed deliberate butchery on an industrial scale, but why?

It was suggested that some of the passengers were leading experts in studying HIV AIDS, there were eighty children. How could someone do it, shoot down a plane which had absolutely nothing to do with the pathetic squabble between two groups of morons in Ukraine, one of which is being assisted by Russia. I hope the people responsible are found and prosecuted, they’re nothing but murderers. May they never sleep again without seeing the faces of all those they killed baying for justice.

It was quarter past seven and I felt as if I’d woken in some sort of nightmare, where the world was actually a real life computer game played by some psychopathic demi-urge. With difficulty I rolled myself out of bed nearly squashing the cat as I did—when did she come in—must have been when Si got up. My walk to the shower felt like I was carrying the cares and woes of the world, part of me wanted to go back to sleep where I’d discover this was all a bad dream and hadn’t happened, except I knew this was real and dreadful. Malaysia airways must feel someone has it in for them, two disasters in a few short months, some coincidence. At least, I would think this time it would all happen so quickly very few would feel much at all—all those children—how could they?

I cried in the shower for all those mothers and their children and it seemed the catharsis shifted my miseries. I could do nothing for all those who died but I could for my own children. I dressed and roused the girls, they tend to shower together and wash each others’ hair. I went down and sent James a text. He replied a short time later and I would call him when I got back from the school run.

I helped the girls pack up all the goodies David had made for them the night before for their class parties. The boot of the car was full of food—trifles and sausages on sticks, cocktail sausage rolls and sandwiches. We had to make two trips filling the boot and then emptying it at the school and momentarily my mind forgot both my own troubles and those of the crazy planet they call earth.

As if things weren’t bad enough, they’ve discovered bacteria in a river near a sewage farm which have mutated to be unaffected by antibiotics. Providing you don’t get an infection you might actually have a reasonable life span. If you do get an infection, don’t start watching any serials...

Back at home I made some tea and toast and sat and talked with David then remembered I had to call Jim. He picked up on my mood and when I explained he shared my viewpoint about the plane tragedy.

“So what d’you want me to do—find the guy who gave the order or pressed the button?”

“What button?”

“The one that shot down the airliner.”

“Oh.”

“That isn’t the job is it?”

“Nah, nothing that difficult—just stop the Palestinians and Israelis squabbling.”

“Sure, and the afternoon?”

I explained about the situation regarding the dean and also Neal and the theory that he drove Glo to kill herself. “It’s not unknown, you know.”

“I’m sure it isn’t but not in this house on my watch.”

“Okay, okay, keep your wig on.”

“How did you know it was a wig?” It wasn’t but I wanted to make him laugh.

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, worn it for ages, tend to lose it in swimming pools.”

“Cathy, you’re telling me porkies.”

“Meee? Li’l ol’ me?” I shrieked and nearly deafened him and set off his car alarm.

“So, what d’you want me to do if I find the dean is a paedo?”

“Give your evidence to the police and let’s see him get his just desserts.”

“And Neal?”

“The same.”

“Okay, you want me to focus on one especially?”

“Not really they both disgust me.”

“They’re just a pain to do. I hate going to hospitals.”

“Well that’s where I heard the rumours. I so want him to be acquitted.”

“Even if he’s guilty?”

“No, if he’s guilty, he’s got it coming.”

“What about a paternity test on Lizzie?”

“No, if he’s guilty I want his daughter to have all his worldly goods. It’s the least she deserves.”

“Okay, this is going to take a few days.”

“Let me know what you can when you can.”

“I’ve got a feeling it’s all going to be uncertain or inconclusive.”

“Do your inimitable best.”

“Do my what?”

“You heard me, now get to work.”

“Yes—oh slave driver.”

“Well, professor...” started David.

“It’s only a temporary situation.”

“Isn’t that what they said about the First World War?”

“I can’t see Tom being dean for four years, he’d jack it in before then.”

“Oh wud I?”

Damn, I thought he was in work. “Hi, Daddy, we were just discussing the likelihood of Nibali winning the Tour.”

“Oh aye, an’ his first name’s Tom, is it?”

“No, his name’s Vincenzo or something like that, Tom is TJ van Garderen, I think, why?”

“Ye’re a puir liar, Catherine Cameron.”

I thought I was getting quite good at it. My blush gave me away and he wandered off with a barely disguised smirk.

“I’d better go and check the dormice.”

“Hilary’s there thae day, Professor,” I heard called from down the hall followed by chortling.

“Ye muckle lugged haggis basher,” I called back at him only to be riposted by a loud laugh.

I thought I might go for a ride then on looking outside thunder was rumbling about like Simon’s belly after he’s eaten fried onions. Thinking about it, the last time I rode in a thunderstorm I bumped into Stella. I might not bounce so well next time, so I went back to my study and called Pippa.

“Department of Biological Sciences, Professor Agnew’s secretary, how can I help?”

“It’s me Pippa.”

“Ooh, acting professor Watts or will it be Cameron?”

“Don’t you start, it’d bad enough with his lordship taking the piss.”

“What Simon?”

“No, the original nutty professor.”

“I heard that, ye scunner.”

“Eavesdroppers rarely hear well of themselves,” I called back.

“Sounds like you’re about to start a scrap in a playground,” suggested Pippa.

“That about sums it up nicely. I’ll call by tomorrow and see if you need me to do anything.”

“Feel free but I won’t be here.”

“What?”

“Cathy, it’s Friday today.”

“Sorry, see you next week then.”

“I’m on holiday for two weeks, Cathy, don’t you remember?”

Next week sounded like a bundle of fun.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2404 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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It was Monday morning and I had Trish and Livvie with me, we were ferrying stuff that I needed from my old and probably future room, up to Tom’s office. They had their iPads with them so they’d amuse themselves. Hilary was doing something in one of the labs but had said she would come and get them when she fed the dormice.

The deputy vice chancellor had called by to thank me for stepping in to fill the breach and had reassured me that he had every confidence in me. Tom had also called in to tell me to just put everything on hold for a month.

“What about bills and things?”

“Aye, alricht authorise payment.”

“And there are two posts vacant.”

“Aye, weel appoint on a temporary contract.”

“Can you do that?”

He shrugged.

“What if I call it a provisional appointment?”

He beamed at me, “Ye’ll mak a professor yet.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“Ye said that aboot bein’ a lady.”

“I still do.”

“Aye, weel the rest o’ us think ye’re a natural.”

That was wrong on a number of levels but I wasn’t going to argue. Just before he went back to the dean’s office he gave the girls a bag of boiled sweets which I commandeered and gave them a couple each—otherwise it would spoil their lunch.

Pippa had left a pile of things for me to deal with in a chronological order, so it was easy if time consuming. I signed a few letters and the girls put them in their respective envelopes once I showed them how to fold them to fit the window envelopes and show the name and address of the recipient.

In no time it was lunch and Tom took us out to his usual watering hole. The girls were impressed to see the manager and staff knew us and what we’d order. They made a fuss of the girls who had a cheesy jacket potato and some horrid fizzy drink. It was so warm I just drank iced water.

I asked him about one or two things of which I was uncertain and he led me to my own solution which agreed with what he’d have done. It made me feel a little more confident in my abilities to wear his shoes for the interim.

I dealt with a few calls as well and we left at three, by which time I felt exhausted. Back at home I tried to give the others some time. Cate was being quite naughty which I suspect was to get my attention, especially as I was trying to feed Lizzie. Danni was out with Carly and Cindy and she didn’t come home until tea time. Tomorrow she had football training but when I mentioned it she said she’d remembered herself—it was on the kitchen calendar which bore most of our appointments.

Tuesday was like Monday only I had Danni and Mima with me. I worked through a pile of papers while they went off with Hilary to feed the dormice. Then lunch with their gramps and back home at three, where I did a couple of hours on the survey.

Simon arrived just in time for dinner and reminded me we had a director’s meeting the following week, could I cobble something together for the environmental department. I sent emails to my assistant asking for reports, I also asked Dan to give me a report on the field centre with photos.

Ah hour after Trish and the younger girls went to bed, I followed suit and was zonked long before Simon came up. He was gone before I got up and I did sometimes wonder why we bothered to marry, we rarely see each other.

Wednesday, we had a temp standing in for Pippa. I dictated some letters and she did some filing. Her best attribute was simply that she made tea exactly the way I like to drink it, hardly grounds for a pay rise, but it did compensate somewhat for her inexperience in running the office.

I was standing near her desk when she dealt with a caller. “Hello, department of biological science.” (Pause). “Professor Agnew isn’t here at the present, Dr Watts is standing in for him—yes, acting professor—no I’m afraid she’s in a meeting at the moment, might I take a message—very well.” She looked up at me, “Some tosser wanted to speak to the organ grinder not the monkey—his words not mine—name of Chris Sutton.”

I knew him back at Sussex, year ahead of me. He probably won’t remember me anyway unless it was as the only woman he didn’t bed. I congratulated Delia, our temp, and went back to the pile of papers on the desk.

Returning from lunch with Danni and Mima I was accosted by Chris Sutton, who replete in expensive suit, shoved a potted orchid in my hands. “Dr Watts, I presume.”

“I’m not sure that worked as a chat up line with Livingstone...” I retorted. He looked bewildered for a split second then began to laugh. “Very good, yes I like it.” I groaned inwardly, he hadn’t changed one bit. If only Trish were here she could have tied him up in knots with Quantum Theory, but she wasn’t—it was Danni who was.

“Mummy, can we see the dormice again?” asked Mima and Danni offered to take her down to the lab. Delia called Hilary who came and got them, she rolled her eyes at me and smirked as she left me to deal with Sutton.

“Dormice, there was a character at Sussex who was crazy about dormice, can’t remember if it was a boy trying to be a girl or a girl pretending to be a boy—weird—but quite harmless.”

“It was a girl trying to avoid tossers like you Mr Sutton.”

He looked aghast at me, then at the name on the door, which had been done as a temporary thing with a piece of card over Tom’s name. “Watts,” he read out loud, “It was you?”

“Your powers of deduction would leave Sherlock way behind,” I taunted.

“You’ve certainly blossomed, but surely you can’t be old enough to have a daughter the age of the older of those two.”

“Well she’s my daughter.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Fate however intervened when Simon rang. “Professor, there’s a Lord Cameron on the phone.”

“I’ll take it in my office,” I looked at Sutton, “What did you want anyway?”

“To take you to lunch and over which discuss the sort of deals we might be able to offer on laboratory equipment.”

“I have to make savings of five per cent this coming year.”

“I can offer you better than that, ten to fifteen per cent off list prices.”

“Five per cent across the department.”

“Oh,” he said.

I handed him back his orchid, “Thank you but no thank you,” and retreated to my temporary office shutting the door behind me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2405 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I shut the door with an audible sigh of relief. Served him right, oversexed moron. I checked with Delia—wonder if she can cook—that he’d gone and asked her to make me a cuppa, while I picked up the financial statement which showed me that I had to save a hundred thousand pounds off the current funding or generate an equal amount of revenue. “How about a dormouse sale?” I said to myself.

“Could I buy one?” asked Delia bringing in my Rosie Lee.

“I beg pardon?”

“You said you were selling dormice, I’d love to have one.”

“I see, have you ever seen one?”

“I saw your film, they looked sooo cool.”

They’re actually quite warm, never mind. “Have you seen one, a live one?”

“Uh no, Professor.”

I was about to scream, ‘I’m not a professor,’ but decided it would be an overreaction. Instead I said, “Come with me,” I locked the office and she secured her door as well, then I led her down to the labs to be the next sacrificial victim to the goddess of dormice.

Of course Danni and Meems were already there with Hilary filling feeding pots or placing food items on the framework they used for exercise. This included things like hazel bushes growing in tubs, up which they could climb like rockets. The whole thing is encased in glass and can be darkened to simulate nightfall. Because we feed them during the day, they tend to come looking for food in the day, so they’re more active than they should have been, but as a visitor attraction that is rather useful.

Delia fell in love at first sight, women do, even those who don’t like mice. When I picked Spike up and placed her chewing on a hazel nut in Delia’s hands, she was blown away. How is it that this thirty grams of fur and flesh has this effect on people? The sort of expressions they have are like they’d just handled some valuable relic or shaken hands with a top movie star—but this is a dormouse, a rather elderly one at that.

“She’s tickling my hand,” whispered Delia and even Meems rolled her eyes, “Look at her tiny little hands.” Spike was turning the nut around in her paws—they don’t have hands—she’s a rodent. We spent a little longer there before I suggested we move back to the office.

“That was absolutely brilliant, Professor, I can see why you’re captivated by them, they are just so cute.”

I smiled, I was fed up with talking about their degree of cuteness, it only matters when we’re trying to protect them or sell something to benefit them. However, I let her witter on for several minutes it seems to require that before they talk sense again—the curse of the dormouse had struck again.

“I can see why you want to study them, they are just so cute.”

“I want to study them because we regard them as a bit of an indicator species with regard to the health of the woods or woodland areas.”

She looked blankly at me.

“Indicator species indicate how the environment is going, if they’re absent when they should be there, something is happening which is affecting them, which means we need to investigate and sort it because sooner or later if it’s killing dormice, we’ll be on the menu.”

“Do things eat dormice then?”

“Yes, including woodmice if they find them in a torpid state they’ll eat their brains.”

“Ugh, how awful.”

“It is and woodmice are usually more numerous than dormice.”

“Can’t you stop it?”

“How, by educating woodmice?”

“Can’t you kill some of them?”

“Not really, I’ve felt like it when one of the little buggers has nipped me.”

“Why do they bite?”

“If some potential predator about a hundred times bigger than you was possibly about to kill and eat you, wouldn’t you have a go at it, you’d have nothing to lose and it might let you go and eat someone else.”

“But you weren’t going to hurt it, were you?”

“It doesn’t know that, does it?”

“I suppose not. Sorry, I must sound like a complete idiot.”

“Not at all. It’s something you haven’t encountered before so your thinking is off the cuff and thus not very ordered. Dormice are very susceptible to all sorts of things from cold and wet with food shortages, to predation and disease and finally destruction of habitat by humans, mainly farmers.”

“Can’t you educate them?”

“What humans or farmers?”

“Both,” she offered looking aghast.

“The good ones already know, the bad ones don’t want to. If we notify a farmer who is about to rip out hedges or cut down a woodland that we’re going to register as a SSSI because of dormice or bats or anything else, a week later it doesn’t exist. The same happens with developers with archaeological remains. Put a JCB through it and there’s nothing left to preserve. Trees felled—they promise to replant but never do or don’t intend to—and Natural England does nothing about it.”

“I heard they stopped churches getting rid of bats even though they were causing damage.”

“Bats in the belfry?” I smirked and she chuckled. “Their urine can be a bit of a problem, but they’re all god’s creatures—ironic, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“The church postulates that god created the world and all its creatures, and some of them are pissing all over buildings and other impedimenta used in the worship of him. I find that ironic—doubly so because they’re protected by law.”

“Oh, I see. Dormice don’t do things like that do they?”

“What despoil churches?”

“Cause damage.”

“The sort you saw just now don’t, too few and they live in the woods or hedgerows. Another species, the edible variety introduced from Italy by Rothschild to his estate near Tring, have escaped and chew cables and other things. They’re bigger and also more aggressive—you need special gloves to handle them—they bite.”

“Edible?” she almost blanched.

“So the Romans thought and countless Italians since, though they’re now protected. Besides, you’d need quite a few for a sandwich, and I believe they are an acquired taste and need lots of cooking.”

“I’ll stick to chicken,” she said unlocking her office. “Thanks for showing me your babies.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“You were like a mother hen, but a proud one.”

“They’ve given me hours of pleasure, do little or no harm to anyone, and are adorable—and we still don’t know everything about them.”

“Would you really want to know everything? What would you have to discover if you did?”

“I’d find something,” I said considering myself mildly rebuked.

“Professor Watts, I believe you would.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2406 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

We left Delia completely mouse-struck, but seeing as that was caused by Spike, who is a bit of a dormouse superstar, would that star-struck? Danni had footie training and I needed some exercise of my own, even if that was chasing round after the kids.

It transpired that Meems got involved in helping Jacqui with bathing Lizzie who’d just thrown up her lunch all over herself. Danni took Cate off with her to read to her while miming ‘bike’ at me. I didn’t need to be told twice, I was off to change and then out and on the Scott heading out of Portsmouth and up Portsdown hill, which took about twenty minutes to reach—or the base of it did. The next twenty minutes ranged from feeling hot and bothered as I climbed the mountain pursued by abominable yetis through the blizzards. Fortunately, my legs were working nearly as well as my imagination so I achieved the climb and rode along the top of the ridge before plunging down towards sea level, the wind making my nipples stand out like bell pushes. If Si plays his cards properly later, I might see if we can chime together.

I returned home in just over the hour, about fifteen miles altogether but part of it was more challenging than other bits. A shower and a change of clothing and I was ready to take madam to footie practice.

I sat reading the stuff I’d been sent from both my assistant at the bank and Dan at the woodland centre. I thought I’d be able to cobble something together for the director’s meeting. I really need to take this more seriously, after all it would reflect back on Henry if I screwed up.

I was just getting into composing mode when there was a tap on the window of the Jag and one of the trainers stood there looking a little sheepish. “Uh, Mrs Cameron, there’s been a bit of an accident...” Before he could say anything else I’d closed the file and jumped out of the car, which I locked as my bag was still in it, albeit well hidden in the arm rest between the two front seats.

He led me to a whimpering teenager who was squeaking more loudly as someone tried to apply an icepack somewhere. I offered to take over, and Danni’s tears eased as she looked at me in relief. Her knee was swelling and very painful, with a bruise appearing on the front of it on the patella.

She tearfully explained that she was taken out by the woman she’d replaced as main striker. It explained the bruising if she was kicked on her knee as she claimed. I got to work on it and some ten minutes later I’d reduced the swelling and most of the pain.

“Can we go home now?” she asked wiping the remains of her mascara off her face.

“Not yet, I want you to get back out there and show her you recovered.”

“What if she does it again?”

“I’ll have her charged with assault if I don’t hit her myself.”

“I must admit I feel a bit scared of her.”

“I doubt she’ll try that again but watch her if you jump up for any high crosses.”

She shrugged and returned to the football pitch getting an ovation as she did. I stood and watched and sure enough Danni’s team was awarded a corner, she jumped up to head it and her assailant, Louise Michaels, rose with her. I saw her elbow move towards Danni’s face, so did Danni, whose reactions were very quick she leant back and punched her opponent in the boob. They both landed heavily, Louise jumped up rubbing her chest before she aimed a kick at Danni who been winded on landing. Danni saw it coming and blocked it with her foot.

At this point I was running to stop this assault on my daughter however the trainer was there first having seen the contretemps he pulled Louise away and told her to go and shower, she was suspended. She effectively told him to stick his team where a monkey sticks his nuts. Then as I got there she aimed a last kick at Danni. It was a mistake, Danni grabbed her foot and pulled and twisted, she fell heavily shrieking as she went, then groaning after she hit the ground. She wasn’t hurt, though I suspect her knee would be tender later. If I’d done it, I’d have dislocated her knee, fortunately Danni is either kinder or less strong than her vindictive mother.

As I helped Danni up the head coach arrived. He’d seen enough to sack Louise there and then. She swore at him and then threatened Danni. At this point I intervened. “If you ever come near my daughter, Louise, I’ll sue your arse off the planet, so much so that if there is such a thing as reincarnation, you’ll still be paying off the damages five lifetimes later.”

“Aw does likkle Danni need her mumsie-wumsie to fight her battles then?”

Not the best thing to say to someone who used to be a boy. I barely saw the hand move but Louise went down like a bag of coal. Danni was suspended for a month for retaliation. When she complained the head coach took me to one side. “Tell her she’s lucky, if she hadn’t been our star player, he’d have sacked her as well.”

I pulled Danni away and told her the facts of life. She shrugged her shoulders and got her bag, we left without her showering. “Where did you learn to punch like that?”

“Daddy showed me when I was trying to be a boy, never worked that good before.”

“Well, never worked that well before. It’s an adverb.”

“Nah, it was an uppercut, straight to the jaw.”

“You be careful, young lady, you could have hurt her and very few women could throw a punch like that.”

“Mummy, if I’d wanted her hurt I’d have set you on her. I just wanted to show her she didn’t frighten me anymore.”

“I suspect even she might realise that now.”

“I can always show her again if she didn’t.”

“Be careful, she might have a boyfriend who won’t be quite so easy to thump.”

“Then I will send for you or Dad.”

“You just be careful, some of these people can get quite violent.”

“Yeah, so I see.”

“And what happens if she turns up playing against you.”

“The one with the fewer bruises will be declared the winner.”

“Seriously, girl, she might really hurt you next time.”

“I think I can look after myself, Mummy, after all I have one of the best teachers to show me.”

I felt myself blushing, then gasping as she added, “Auntie Stella’s a real psycho but she’s a good trainer.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2407 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

We returned home for dinner and Danni regaled them with tales of her scrap with the woman at the football club. Simon was beaming but Julie and Jacquie weren’t quite so impressed, telling her that it was demeaning for women to swap blows on a football pitch. I half agreed with them.

A little later James called to ask if it was convenient to call by a bit later. He arrived just after I’d read a story to the younger girls while Simon and Danni continued telling stories of derring-do. Simon looked suspiciously at James when I took him through to the study and asked Jacquie to make us a pot of tea.

“What did you manage to uncover?”

“A can of worms in both investigations.”

“Oh,” it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

“The police have a special unit for tracing child porn and they apparently had been watching two people at the university.” I felt my tummy flip. “Don’t worry, they weren’t on to you and the plant on your computer, no they were watching two computers, the dean’s and one in the chemistry department. They’ve since arrested someone from there and confiscated his computer.”

I knew nothing of that nor wanted to. “So is the dean guilty?”

“If he isn’t, I’d be very surprised.”

“Oh dear, I was rather hoping he wasn’t.”

“He’s still to be tried, but usually the evidence is pretty damning.”

“If he’s guilty, he’s got it coming.”

“Quite,” agreed my hired sleuth.

“What about Neal?”

“The other one was enigmatic enough, this one is twice as bad.”

“In what way?”

“I haven’t yet discovered anything except rumours.”

“Does that mean no smoke without fire or, Chinese whispers?”

“Possibly a mixture of both.”

“I had feeling you were going to say that.” Julie brought in the tea.

“Jacquie went off to sort out Lizzie, so I brought this through.” I thanked her but waited for her to leave before continuing with James.

“No one seems to have heard him bully or threaten Gloria, which might mean he didn’t or that I haven’t yet asked the right person. Similarly, no one seems to have seen Gloria go off to hang herself, and any cameras in the stairwells don’t seem to have been working that evening.”

“Convenient.”

“Might just be coincidence.”

“I appreciate that. What about the police evidence?”

“A bit woolly or circumstantial, I’d be surprised if they got a conviction on what I’ve seen so far.”

“Could there be further evidence?”

“Oh yeah, but if it’s in psychiatric hospital records it could be difficult to access.”

“You usually manage.”

“GPs have computers which can be hacked, hospitals tend to have written notes which are more difficult to get at.”

“Wouldn’t the prosecution get a court order to see them?”

“That’s fine if they haven’t mysteriously disappeared, which hospital notes do with monotonous regularity.”

“Did he have opportunity?”

“Possibly, but whether he had a motive or no, is another matter.”

“Clear as mud then?”

“’Fraid so.”

“So we don’t know if he accused her of adultery or not?”

“Haven’t yet found anyone who’s prepared to say they heard them arguing.”

“So where did that rumour originate?”

“Search me.”

There was a knock on the door and Simon appeared when I opened it. “Is this a private conspiracy or can anyone join?” For a moment I’m sure I detected jealousy.

“James was giving me a report on a couple of things I asked him to look into.”

“That makes him sound like a scryer or haruspex.”

“What?”

“Well looking into crystal balls or animal guts.”

“I know what scrying is and also about Etruscan haruspices, why did you ask it?”

“I thought the Druids did entrail reading?” suggested Si.

“They may well have done but the term comes from the Etruscans, I believe probably mixed with Latin.”

James looked seriously impressed, however, Simon wasn’t. “She does crosswords,” was his retort.

We included Simon in the discussion but we neither were able to add to the evidence or suggest how we might find ways of doing so. “And these notes have definitely disappeared?”

“Seems like, they got a warrant to see them but they weren’t there,” explained Jim.

“But Neal wouldn’t have been able to organise that, would he?” Simon had a good point.

“What if someone else was involved or even did it?” I interjected.

“Did what though?” asked Simon.

“Drove her to suicide or actually murdered her.”

“Like who and why?”

“How do I know? I count dormice not investigate crime.”

“Does that mean you investigate crime amongst dormice?” Simon was trying to be funny.

“No, more crime against dormice.”

“Touché,” my dozy husband admitted.

“I’ll keep trying for a bit longer, especially on Neal’s case though I doubt I’ll find anything much.”

I had suggested that Phoebe went to visit him while she was off college but she declined feeling too upset to go anywhere near him. Consequently, it was I who called at the police station but his brains were still non-functional, so I was unable to visit or allow him to visit here. On enquiring what would happen next, they couldn’t tell me, except they had opposed bail. The magistrates told us they accepted the police case against bail, and they also feared for his safety, if not his sanity.

Simon enquired if Jason were available, it seemed he wasn’t, so Neal would either have to hire his own defence team or criticise the one the court offered him. That sounded most unlikely.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2408 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I woke to the doorbell being rung, I glanced at the clock as I sat up in bed. It was six in the morning, light, but not the time I usually rose. The doorbell rang again and I pulled on a cardigan as I stumbled downstairs. The bell rang again. Whoever it was I was going to give a piece of my mind, assuming I could actually spare it.

I unbolted the door and unlocked the mortise then pulled open the old oak door. I was face to face with a policeman. Immediately my heart rose and stuck in my throat—Simon or Sammi?

“Are you Lady Cameron?” he asked, and my knees nearly gave way.

“Yes.”

“Might I come in?”

Shock had caused me to hesitate, “Of course, sorry, still half asleep.”

He entered the kitchen following behind me. “Lovely house you have here.”

“Yes, it’s my father’s.”

“I see, what a brill kitchen, don’t show my wife she’ll tell me we need to move again.”

“I filled and switched on the kettle.”

“I’m sure you didn’t get me up at six o’clock to look round my kitchen.”

“Ah, no. P’raps you’d better make your tea first.”

“That sounds like bad news—you’ll have a cup?”

“Won’t say no—an’ yeah, I have some bad news.”

I decided I could wait until I was seated with a cup of tea before hearing whatever the bad news was. So five minutes later I sat myself down opposite him, aware that in my haste I’d forgotten to pull some slippers on and my feet felt cold.

The bad news was for Phoebe, somehow Neal had made a rope from strips of torn bed sheet and had hanged himself on the back of the door of his cell. There would be an enquiry and due to the fact he was seen as vulnerable, some heads would roll as a consequence. I wasn’t impressed.

“Do you want me to rouse Phoebe so you can tell her, or d’you want me to break the news?”

“As I’ve informed her foster parent, I’ll leave that to you if it’s okay?” It’s peculiar how the dirty jobs seem to always land on my desk.

“I presume there’ll be an inquest?”

“Yes, ma’am, the coroner has been informed. Funny he should do the same as his wife.”

“And which you were investigating?”

“Yeah, so I believe—oh well, another one sorted.”

“Is it? D’you really think so?”

“Is for us,” he took a very pragmatic view.

“It isn’t for the rest of us. He was a colleague of mine at the university, so was his wife. I foster his sister—it isn’t over for us, one bit.”

“Yeah, sorry, didn’t mean it like that. I meant as he can’t tell us or be prosecuted, no point in pursuing the investigation of his wife’s death.”

“You mean you thought he could be prosecuted as he was—he was quite ill, has been since his wife died.”

“Yeah, but that could be faked or guilt.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Er—no.”

“I did several times, he wasn’t faking it.”

“I respect your um—greater knowledge of him.”

“Thank you for that. I’m also fostering his baby daughter—goodness she’s an orphan.”

“Yeah, I s’pose she is with both of ’em dead.”

“Whit’s happened?” asked Tom entering the kitchen.

“Neal is dead.”

“Whit?”

“He hanged himself.”

“I thought ye lot were supposed tae be watching him,” he accused the young copper.

“Yeah, there’ll be an enquiry.”

“I shud think sae.”

“I’d best be off,” said the young officer before beating a hasty retreat.

“Hae ye telt Phoebe?”

“Not yet.”

“Shall I go and get her f’ ye?”

“No, I’ll get her, Daddy.”

“Aye, alricht, I’ll bide here awhile.”

“Okay.” He gave me a hug and I went upstairs. Phoebe was awake.

“It’s Neal, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Has he succeeded?”

“Yes.”

“Thought he would eventually. What are you going to do with Lizzie?”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Will you keep her?”

“Is that what you’d like?”

“Please, Mummy.”

“I’ll talk to Simon.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She got out of bed and he hugged then we both wept.

“I knew he’d do it one day.”

“I must admit it doesn’t surprise me very much. We did try to tell the police he was a suicide risk.”

We sat on the bed and I held her for several minutes. “You’re all I have now,” she said quietly.

“You still have Lizzie.”

“Yeah, but you know what I mean—none of my original family survive, I’m so glad you agreed to let me live with you, Mummy.”

“I’m rather glad you asked to come to us. You’re a lovely young woman and it’s a privilege to have you here.”

She clung to me tightly and sobbed, I could do nothing but hold her and gently rub her back.

Noises in the distance meant her niece had woken. “I’d best go and see to her.” I said as I eased myself from Phoebe’s grasp.

“Yeah, better had.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Yeah, gotta be, haven’t I?”

“I’ll tell Julie.”

“Okay—thanks—an’ Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thanks for being there for me.”

“It’s my privilege, if not my pleasure this time.”

Moments after I told Julie what had happened she was down hugging Phoebe and I went to sort out the baby, who for some reason had quietened down again, then I saw Meems, lifting her out of the cot and walking towards me. “You took youw time, Mummy,” she scolded.

“I had to give Phoebe some bad news.”

“Oh yeah, wossat then?”

“Her brother Neal has just died.”

“Does ’at mean we can keep the baby?” She sounded pleased by the possibility.

“Meems, this baby’s daddy has just died.”

“So? Can we keep hew?”

Some days I didn’t understand my children and some days, I’m not sure I wanted to. Today, I understood perfectly what Mima was saying, but I don’t think I felt very happy with it.

I took the baby off her and we went down to the kitchen where I fed her watched by Mima who was feeling her own chest and expressing a silent disgust that she was too young to breastfeed. I felt like telling her to be patient. Had she been able at nine to do so, by thirty her breasts would be knocking on her knees. Not a pretty sight or thought. I did let her help me change the baby after we’d bathed her.

Over the next hour I watched all the rest of the family rise and come down for breakfast, Julie, who’d left Phoebe to Danni to sit with, had come down and gone off to the salon. She’d have to get some extra help or cancel people.

Once Jacquie had taken over from me, I replaced Danni with the grieving Phoebe and told her to see if she could help out at the salon. Half an hour later she was cadging a lift from Tom to do just that. It was nice to see the family pulling together during an hour of need, and even though none of them, except Phoebe and Lizzie were biologically related, they acted as if they were—in fact better than, some natural families.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2409 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I sent Simon a text to let him know what had happened. He called back about half an hour later. “Sorry to hear the news though not entirely surprised,” he said adding, “I suppose you’ll want to keep the baby?”

“Not without your agreement.”

There was a pause. “This has to be the last, stick to kittens in future.” Just then there was an almighty crash and Bramble went scuttling under the sofa in my study. “What was that?” asked my husband.

“The crash you mean?”

“Yes—are you all right?”

“Fine. That noise was our kitten, though quite what it was I have yet to discover.”

“Look, have as many babies as you like but no more kittens, okay?”

“I think this baby will be the last—I’ve got the set now.”

“Eh?”

“Thank you, darling.” I rang off before he could change his mind or suggest I show my gratitude in a more tangible form, and I don’t think he meant a thank you card. I spoke to our solicitor, the one who dealt with family matters, explained the situation and that I wanted to go for long term fostering or adoption. I wanted to act before social services did, though I suspect knowing their director meant I’d probably be left alone. Our legal eagle thought that as it was a private arrangement, we’d not need to do anything, and besides, Phoebe was his next of kin, so we could count on her supporting our continued support of her niece. She was in no place to do it herself and had already made her wishes known.

In some ways, nothing had changed except we now knew that Neal would never be calling to repossess his most precious possession. That would make planning easier to some extent, it would now become long term.

I’d left Phoebe sleeping and was doing some emails for the department that Delia had passed on to me, when Phoebe appeared at my side. “D’you think it would be okay if I went to the salon?”

“Is that what you’d like to do?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, but on the understanding that if it gets too much for you, you call me and I’ll come and get you.”

“I’ll be all right, I ’spect.”

“I expect you will be, too; but just in case you aren’t, you call me; d’you hear?”

“Yes, Mummy,” she sighed and rolled her eyes then sniggered. When I made to rise from my desk she dashed off up to her room to dress. I did get up and went to the kitchen to ask David to prepare some packed lunches for the three girls at the salon. Then, I called Julie but ended up speaking to Danni and told her I was bringing Phoebe in to work plus some lunch for all of them. At mention of food, she squealed and told me I was ‘brill’.

The crash, that even Simon had heard turned out to be the dinner gong with which Kiki had collided while chasing Bramble, who’d run off with the pig’s ear she was eating. Apparently, she’d stopped to lick up some crumbs and the kitten had shot by and snatched the dog’s treat practically from under her nose. The feline filcher had then dropped said snack when pursuing canine encountered gong in hall. David had witnessed the theft and subsequent chase plus collision. He’d then checked the dog for brain damage—difficult, she doesn’t appear to have one—and righted the dinner gong. Kiki eventually found her piece of purloined piggy-wig and our feline felon, went up to sleep on Trish’s bed, with Trish who was reading.

By the time Phoebe had dressed and slapped on some makeup—no self respecting teen ever goes out without it, girls that is—David had made them up some lunches which I carried to the car before taking them and Phoebe to the salon.

As Danni had been suspended for fighting she didn’t have to attend footie training, so I agreed to go and collect her at five, when the salon closed. Then it was back home for lunch and to amuse the other children for the afternoon. We went swimming at the hotel and yes, even I got wet—had a swim. I wore a one piece swim suit and swam a few lengths while the others messed about mainly in the shallow end. Stella came as well, having a day off work—the room she uses was being decontaminated or something—so we brought Jacquie and the little ones as well.

After my swim, I took Lizzie in the pool with me and she enjoyed herself for several minutes judging by the squeals and kicks she made. Ten minutes later I took her out and changed her just in time as she pooed her pants. She then sat and watched as I got dressed and then we went up to the gallery to watch the others. At four I called them to change, a stipulation I’d made before we went, and they trooped out, albeit reluctantly. Stella had driven the Mondeo and filled it with children, thus leaving me room to collect Danni and if necessary, Phoebe. In the end it was just, Danni as Pheebs was coming home with Julie.

“Enjoy yourself?” I enquired of my adolescent daughter.

“Yeah, was okay.”

“We went swimming,” declared Livvie.

“At the hotel?”

“Yeah, an’ Auntie Stella came too, so we could take the littlies.”

“Damn,” said Danni and they all roared with laughter.

“You shoulda seen Lizzie, she was so excited.”

“She didn’t wee, did she?” Danni has helped me bathe her.

“Not as far as I know,” I replied with feigned innocence. I hadn’t actually seen her but it was more than likely.

“Ugh,” offered Trish, “Have I been swimming in Lizzie wee?” That precipitated a whole pile of groans and jokes, including, “I won’t swim in the sea because fish have been pooing in it.”

“Not just fish, kiddo,” I informed her.

“What else—you mean seals an’ things?”

“They too, but I meant people.”

“What they poo in the sea—dirty monkeys.”

“Uh worse than that, most sewage eventually finds itself piped out to sea.”

“What—like from home?”

“Yes. It goes to treatment plants first but is eventually piped out to sea.”

“Yuck, I’m never going swimming in the sea again.”

“Where did you think it went?” I challenged.

“How do I know, I pull the flush and it disappears.”

“Well now you know, don’t you?”

“Too much information, Mummy,” they all squeaked at me. Some days I just can’t win with this lot, I really can’t.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2410 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I spent the evening drafting a report for the board meeting, the stuff from my assistant at the bank and the report from Dan complete with photos was enough to fill four pages of A4, so that was enough. I showed it to Simon who thought it was fine. I then emailed it to Henry’s secretary who would fit it into the rest of the reports for the meeting. Once we had the centre up and running, I’d invite the board down to visit and include a guided tour plus a walk in the woods.

Of course, if I’m still acting professor, that could all be delayed somewhat as I’ll only be able to spend minimal time there which will add extra onus on Dan. He says he doesn’t mind as it would look good on his CV, I hope that doesn’t mean he’s thinking of leaving.

Phoebe is Neal’s next of kin but it seems rather unfair for her to have to deal with coroners and police, so yours truly, as her guardian cum foster parent, took the responsibility off her. I know that Lizzie is actually a closer relative in law, but somehow a one year old is even worse at making decisions about funerals, so I did everything.

Post mortems completed, the coroner released the body to the undertaker, so we could then get the form to take to the registrar for the death certificates. As a suicide, at least we didn’t have to worry about claiming insurances—they don’t pay out for self murder. So I offered to pay, and with Phoebe’s agreement, set in motion a plan to let Neal’s house and use the rent to pay the mortgage, the house being then handed over to Lizzie on her twenty fifth birthday. I asked the same company who deal with the leases on two other properties we own to run the rental for us. It costs money but you factor all that into the rent.

Phoebe had popped by the house every week to check it was all okay, and I agreed to go and help her remove any personal belongings of Neal or Glo, clothing and so forth. We decided that it would wait until the weekend.

The next day I duly went and saw the registrar and with Phoebe registered the death. That was traumatic enough, then we had to freeze bank accounts and so forth. As the university had still been paying Neal, six months full pay and six half pay, his bank account was in a healthy state, so we agreed it would pay for his funeral and I’d pay for the wake afterwards. The rest, we’d stick in an ISA for Lizzie to which Simon would add the same he did for the others, a thousand pounds, every year. As none of them were twenty five, we hadn’t told them about it, because that would be when they collected the money if they so wished. Once they took control, Simon would stop paying in the money, so I had a feeling they might try and leave it if they could.

I know that lots of people do much better things for their kids but they don’t have ninety five kids, which is sometimes what it feels like. I never thought I’d say I’ve got enough children, but I honestly can these days, possibly more than I’d have wanted.

We’d just got home when Mr Henstridge phoned to say he’d begun enquiries about indefinite fostering or adoption of Lizzie, which Phoebe supported. “Pity you can’t adopt me as well.” So I asked him to look into that too. We actually considered Phoebe one of our children and she addressed us as mummy and daddy, so it would only be formalising a de facto arrangement.

I spent the afternoon working on my budget for the department. Five per cent cuts would mean I’d have to lose a member of staff or find sponsorship for one. I needed to find a large industry that could sponsor us for about seventy five thousand a year, which is a bit much to ask for a dormouse on their logo. That was serious money. With the recession, no one had spare money to invest in a tax dodge PR campaign or not of the amount we needed.

I talked it over with Tom and all the names he suggested I’d already approached. I even suggested resigning as meeting a significant amount of the necessary savings but he immediately stopped me, pointing out that much of my costs were met by the bank as director of the woodland centre. He checked my figures and we discovered my savings were now twenty five thousand to find. Still a deal of money but better than the original amount.

I did quick costings and decided that if we moved the captive breeding to the woodland centre the bank would temporarily fund it if we made the programme a registered charity, The Dormouse Society, for instance, we could save the required amount. Tom was quite impressed and agreed to all my ideas. He then told me to draft a business plan and constitution for this charity and to apply to the charity commissioners to get it registered, and also to find a few trustees.

I immediately wrote to HRH the Prince of Wales to ask him to be patron once we got charitable status, and to St Attenborough as a back-up. The latter was likely to be a safer bet.

This all had to be accepted by the university before any of it could be enacted, although I would still go ahead and try for charitable status for the dormouse breeding prog, and asked the university legal department to send me some guidelines for starting an educational charity. Well, I sent them an email before my energy ran out and I went to bed—it was ten o’clock and I hadn’t really stopped since breakfast.

Tomorrow, I told Si and Daddy, I was going to spend a holiday with the children and nothing was going to stop me. I also told Si, as soon as I got the budget accepted I was going to our villa on Menorca and taking as many of the children as I could get into the minibus.

Simon agreed to come with me for a week providing the internet was up to scratch. I told him I was going for three weeks. The look of astonishment was—astonishing, he was gobsmacked, then told me he’d cope by himself. He’d still have David and Tom in the house but he also had the option of staying with Henry and Monica. I’d decided I would ask Sammi if she wanted to come with us as she hadn’t had a holiday for months, and even Julie, though I doubted either would come.

So those were the plans on my mind as I drifted off to sleep rather than budget savings, and I had dreams of trying to see the local dormice which are different to our ones.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2411 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I awoke to the ethereal music of Geoffrey Burgon’s Nunc Dimittis written for a tv serial of Le Carré’s, Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Spy. I don’t remember the serial, being born after it was shown, but the music I had heard before and liked. I simply lay there feeling warm and comfortable and enchanted by the voice of the boy treble who was singing. I wished I’d had a voice as good when I was a kid, but I didn’t. It was better than most at school but I recall the music teacher saying I was more soprano than treble, implying I had a girl’s rather than boy’s singing voice. I was told often enough I had a girl’s speaking voice much to my father’s disquiet. He got fed up telling people that the girl who’d answered the phone was his son. In the end he told me not to answer the phone an instruction he eventually rescinded when he then had to answer it himself. Mum later told me that when people remarked on his daughter’s clear diction and speaking voice, he used to agree to avoid explanations as it embarrassed him.

I was quietly reminiscing when I felt somebody with cold feet clamber into bed with me, it was too big for Trish or Livvie. “Can I have a cuddle, Mummy?” It was Phoebe, whose red eyes with dark circles under them showed she hadn’t slept well last night.

“Of course,” I rolled over onto my back to make a cuddle easier for her. She snuggled up to me and rested her head on my shoulder, my arm wrapped around her. “Sad?” I asked gently stroking her back.

“Yes,” she sniffed, “It seems so unfair that Neal so wanted children but as soon as Lizzie was born he was unable to spend time with her—an’ now he’s dead.” She began sobbing, and I hugged her as best I could while she sobbed on my shoulder. “Why is life so unfair?”

“I don’t know, but at times it certainly seems to be.”

“Does god hate us? My family, I mean?”

Ask me an easy one. “I don’t believe in god as you know, so I can’t answer your question except to say, if there was a god, I doubt he’d even be aware of you or your family. So I doubt it’s personal, besides if there was a god, it would seem rather petty for a deity to visit disaster on a family for whatever reason. Wouldn’t bring in many believers, would it?”

“No I s’pose not,” she said almost laughing. Then after a short pause added, “Why did he have to die?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but in his confused state he decided to end his pain the only way he felt he could.”

“But surely you could have sorted his head with your magic light?”

“I tried several times but it didn’t seem to work.”

“Is that because god hated him?”

“I don’t think so. Sometimes it doesn’t work because it isn’t meant to, or the person who needs it prevents it getting to them by erecting barriers. Like everything else, it works sometimes and sometimes it doesn’t. I can’t say how or why, it seems to decide itself.”

“But that’s so unfair.”

“I’m afraid life is sometimes.”

“I don’t think I believe in god either, or he’s a real mean bastard.”

“Pheebs, I’m afraid we’ll never know what Neal was thinking of before he did what he did and simply speculating about it is pointless.”

“D’you think he was guilty, and that’s why he did it?”

“Guilty of what—missing his wife? Yes, he probably did, very much.”

“No, of driving her to kill herself.”

“I’ve neither seen nor heard any evidence that he was anything but a loving husband to Gloria and that she, probably suffering from post natal depression, took her own life through her depression. It happens even though it shouldn’t.”

“Do you always see the best in people?”

“I try to because most of the time that’s the real them. Occasionally I’m disappointed, but only occasionally and that might be due to them reacting to unhelpful circumstances.”

“I wish I was as nice as you, you really are an angel, aren’t you?”

“I’m not sure I follow your argument, Pheebs, because there is absolutely nothing angelic about me.”

“Well I think there is.”

“In which case you’re squashing one of my wings.”

“Oh sorry,” she sat up quickly and I smirked. She glowered at me before her mouth crinkled at the edges and she smiled then laughed. “You’re wicked,” she declared before laughing again.

“C’mon, let’s get some breakfast.”

“I can’t believe anyone ever thought you were a boy,” she said getting off the bed.

“Well, I’m afraid they did.”

“But you’re such a good mother.”

“People used to say that about a friend’s dog.”

“Mummy, I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Okay, be serious there, I’m going to have a wee.” When I returned from the bathroom she’d left my bedroom presumably to go back to her own. Had I blown it? See, I don’t believe I’m a good mother, I have to work hard at it and frequently get it wrong.

I quickly showered while it seemed quiet, then dried and dressed before descending to the chaos of the kitchen and breakfast. Except it wasn’t chaos, they were all there eating their breakfasts and behaving themselves. Phoebe was sitting next to Julie who was spreading jam on toast.

“Hi, Mummy,” offered Trish before having a slurp of milk.

“Tea?” asked Jacquie handing me a mug of the hot fluid.

I accepted it thanking her as I did so. It was just how I liked it.

“Shouldn’t you be in work?” I asked Julie.

“Not starting till ten.”

“Oh, okay.”

“About the only privilege of being your own boss.”

“That’s true,” I agreed, though not all the time but I wasn’t going to nit pick.

“Are you going to the salon today, Pheebs?”

“Yeah, now I feel better.”

“Well you would, wouldn’t ya, cwtching with Mummy, you’ve probably been sucking up all her energy,” said Trish with a slight hint of disapproval.

“No I haven’t, have I, Mummy?”

“No, darling,” I lied. She looked about a hundred per cent better.

“See,” she glared back at Trish.

Trish had one of those expressions which non-verbally said, ‘I don’t believe you.’

Thankfully, before they came to blows, Phoebe went up to shower then a little later she and Julie went off to the salon.

“Right, you lot, what would you like to do today?”

They all shouted something different and I instantly regretted what I’d asked them, next time I’d make the suggestion and they could say why they didn’t want to do it, and they would, they always do.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2412 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Episode 201 dozen.

Somehow I survived more or less sane after organizing four different diversions for the girls. To please Danni we did a bike ride. As a bikeophile that should have pleased me but being in charge of half a dozen kids on bikes all wanting to ride somewhere different and at different speeds, made me wish I’d said no.

Then we went to the library. It was filled with other people’s brats arguing with gymslip mothers about whose turn it was to use facebook. If I’d made anything like as much noise when I was a kid, I’d have been turfed out on my ear by the librarian. Nowadays, no one takes any notice of ill-manners or loutish behavior by children or young adults. If you say anything, the parents demonstrate where their children’s bad behavior and poor vocabulary originates. It seems they’re protective of their children with regards to outside influences but not enough to rear them as human beings, presumably because it wasn’t shown to them how to do it by their parents. We now have as many as three or four generations of people who are clueless about parenting and sadly they occur in significant numbers all over the country.

I had a sudden flashback to a memory that hadn’t crossed my mind since it happened. I was coming out of the library in boy mode, I was twelve and had just started growing my hair, when some yobbo a bit bigger than me, grabbed and tried to mug me. I was very frightened but refused to hand over my money which I had in a small purse Siân had given me.

The yob flung me against a wall and pulled out a knife. “Okay, girly boy, hand over your money or I’m gonna spoil your looks.” There was no one around there never is when you need them, especially coppers.

I was on the verge of wetting myself when my fear began to change to anger. He’d picked on me because I was an easy target—or so he thought. I was going to change his mind. I pretended I was trembling with fear and fumbled handing him the money, my purse falling to the floor. Still waving the knife he went to pick it up and I swung the bag of books I had at his face. It made heavy contact and stunned him, whereupon I knocked the knife from his hand, kicked him hard in his family jewels and hit him in the face again with the books which broke his nose. He ran off holding his face and I kicked his knife down a nearby drain. I shook with nerves all the way home but was grateful my mum had made me take her canvas shopper with me to carry the books. I still have that little red purse somewhere, the one Siân gave me, it didn’t hold much money but it was a real girl’s purse and I treasured it.

“Wotcha lookin’ at?” barked a young tattooed stick insect.

I turned to walk away.

“Hey you, stuck up bitch, I asked you a question,” she demanded of my back. I chose to ignore her and walked towards where Trish and Livvie were waiting for Danni to join them, I’d got sidetracked looking at the notices and then having my reverie. I was aware of quickening steps behind me and a voice calling, “Watch out she’s got a knife.”

I sidestepped and turned quickly just in time to see her swing a blade at me, this a girl of about fourteen. I held up my Louis Vuitton bag which deflected the blade just in time to see Danni throw herself at the girl. They both went down scrambling on the floor when friends of the attacker arrived and started trying to kick or hurt Danni. I shouted at them to stop but the melee became worse. Jacquie got involved and showed she’d learned a thing or two about self defence in the unit, because she punched two girls in as many seconds and neither wanted a second.

A policeman arrived followed by another and they grabbed Danni and the girl. We all ended up down the nick, where they extracted the knife from my bag. I was apparently accused of staring at her friend. Trish had filmed it because my stare was unusual—I was reliving the past—so we had evidence of the attack, which the police accepted was not my fault.

The girl had a history of petty crime and assaults and we were all astounded at Danni’s courage in intervening so decisively, as well as Jacquie wading in like an enraged prize fighter. Once the police realized who we were, or who I was, they were keen to get rid of us—the pension eater strikes again. We returned to the car and I had to spring for some new tights which Danni holed while rolling about on the floor.

Jacquie let slip she’d been practicing boxing moves on Stella’s punchbag, no wonder she struck so convincingly. It did make me wonder if I had some sort of magnet which attracted trouble, because who else got mugged at the library? It had happened twice now to me.

Jacquie confided that after watching the women’s boxing in the Olympics she fancied having a try herself. She joined a club in Pompey, not far from Fratton and had some lessons, then it was train hard once you’ve got the basics. She was too violent for the gym, so they expelled her and she practiced alone at home. As a technique, it certainly worked though a little crude, I didn’t think I’d be learning it, though the hole in my bag showed how hard the knife had been thrust at me. I stuck some gaffer tape on the inside of the bag, it seemed to do the job of hiding the split from Simon until they showed him the video Trish had taken and the knife was seen sticking out of my bag. Simon demanded to see the evidence upon which he called someone and then disappeared complete with my bag. He returned some two hours later having been to see a friend who repaired the damage. I had to stay awake for a while when we went to bed just in case he required payment in kind, whereupon he fell asleep instead. Seems you can’t rely on anyone these days.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2413 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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It seemed that Simon had gone to sleep because he had an early start, for a meeting he was a little shy of. I found all this out later. Apparently, he and the heads of the other retail banks were dined at No 11, Downing Street by the Chancellor of the Exchequer. As Simon doesn’t like the man, nor his boss, he wasn’t that struck on attending but missing out would have had consequences, political fallout and so on, so he put on his best lounge suit and went.

I was in the land of nod, so missed it all including him shouting at the cat for getting hair on his suit trousers. He apparently had a meeting first thing with his own board then went to lunch with the chancellor. I’m so glad I don’t operate in those circles, I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut. Thankfully Si is better controlled, all those cold showers at school, I expect.

After breakfast, I had a call from Mr Henstridge who seemed to think the adoption panel would look fairly kindly on our application because it was supported by Phoebe, who had herself asked to be adopted by us. When he discovered she was sixteen, he was more downbeat, but said he’d do what he could after I told him that some sixteen year olds required a formal parenting environment, and that Phoebe admitted she was.

In case that application failed, I told her that we considered she was our daughter and we would act accordingly. The rest of the kids felt the same about it, she was their sister no matter what anyone else said about it. With a dozen kids in my care, it seems as if my own mother’s prophesy had come true. I did have a big family with lots of kids and I loved every one of them.

I spoke with Trish as I was clearing up the breakfast mess. “How is it you always seem ready with your phone to film things?”

“I dunno, Mummy, just seems to happen. I mean how do you always know when I’m gonna do something dumb?”

“I don’t always know, but I’ll let you into a secret.”

“Yes, Mummy?”

“It’s top secret, so only you will know.”

“Yes please, Mummy.”

“I was a young once, too.”

“Bah, you cheated,” she said her mouth frowning but her eyes were sparkling.

“Who cheated?” asked Livvie.

“Mummy did.”

“How d’you mean.”

She told her sister the conversation that preceded her entry.

“What? You fell for that old one. Of course Mummy was young, she was a girl like us, dumbo.” That resulted in Trish chasing her sister out of the kitchen and down the garden towards the orchard.

Meems was helping Jacquie with Lizzie and Cate was playing with Stella’s two psychos. Danni arrived down in cycling kit and asked if she could ride over to Cindy’s. Apparently Carla was going to be there and they seemed as thick as thieves these days. I agreed but told her to ride carefully as there appeared to have been several accidents involving cyclists recently. Part of me felt envious of her freedom to do what she liked—within reason—whereas I had more work to do for the department. This being a pretend professor was never ending.

While I was at the computer, I browsed some bike shops in Menorca, finding one in Mao who understood enough English to get me a bike and deliver it to the villa that Henry had given us. I ordered an Orbea, which is a Spanish make that seemed quite good and he gave me a knockdown price on it and agreed to deliver it. He told me that he did hire bikes but nothing as good as the road bike I’d just bought. I next warned our caretaker to expect a bike to be delivered next week and that I’d organised flights for the holiday.

Hopefully, that was now sorted. I’d have a bike to ride which the others could borrow as they grew up, assuming I wasn’t using it. If the need arose, we’d have to buy some more bikes. According to Simon, there was a car in the garage and he’d made sure it was in running order and was insured and taxed. Henry had bought it about eight years ago, it was a Peugeot 308 or something, so a sizeable car which only did about five thousand miles a year, so would last for a few more years yet.

While the ecologist part of me felt guilty for having a holiday home abroad which was only used by the family, another part felt glad I had somewhere to go in the sun if it became cold and wet here. Henry had had solar panels and hot water system installed which ran off solar energy, so the place helped replenish any energy it used. Also there was a wood-burner stove and loads of logs, which our caretaker keeps topped up in case we visit in colder weather. The place has gas bottles for the cooker and a second fire, it also has satellite television based on Sky, so we’re supporting a British based cycling team.

Excitement was beginning to mount as I contemplated our holiday. I bought binoculars and a telescope to take over with me to leave there, I’d take my iPad, though there was supposed to be a computer in the villa. The biggest irritation was needing a taxi to and from the airport, but that was small beer and our caretaker would organise it for us, with a people carrier type cab.

I gave up on the pretend professor stuff and called the girls in one at a time to compile a list of the clothing they’d need to take and what we’d need to buy. It took the whole afternoon, but I finally sorted who was coming and what we needed.

Jacquie was coming for the two weeks, she would help me with the younger girls so we’d both have some free time. Phoebe was coming for a week, Sammi was coming for a week. Julie was staying put to run the salon, she’d have a week later if she could spare the time.

Trish, Livvie, Meems, Danni, Cate and Lizzie were with us for the whole two weeks, but Simon said he could only afford a week away from the bank as Henry would also be away one of the weeks.

The castle was apparently being used for a film shoot which would use up most of August but pay for staffing costs for half the year. Simon snapped up the offer very quickly once the film company showed real interest and weren’t just flying kites.

After lunch, David did sardines on a rustic salad, I went exploring all the information I could find about the dormice of Menorca. There wasn’t much and half of that refered to some fossil species which disappeared thousands of years ago. So, if I could find signs of the modern ones, I would try and write about them to get more publicity for the island and its dormice. If I baited an area, it might be useful to set up a camera to record anything going for the food. At least that way, I could check more than one site at a time.

Life was becoming exciting again and I was enjoying it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2414 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“There’s something going on up here...” Dan’s call had made my tummy flip. “They all know it’s a nature reserve, but I’ve been finding snares and used cartridges, so someone is trapping and poaching up here.”

I said I’d be up as quickly as I could and had he called the police. He’d informed them but they weren’t interested and I could appreciate that they would see dealing with gangs or drug dealers more pressing than someone popping off bunnies or bigger animals on a nature reserve. I decided I wanted to gather more evidence before getting involved with the enforcers of the law.

Danni walked in as I was getting ready to wander through the woods, pulling on my cargo trousers and green shirt. “You going mousing? Can I come?”

“I thought you were going to see Cindy?”

“Nah, she’s gorra go to the dentist for braces.”

“Orthodontist, you mean.”

“Yeah, som’in’ like that.”

I spend a fortune on these girls’ education and they all sound like they work on the docks. “I’m going to see if we’ve had poachers or hunters on Billie’s reserve.”

“Can I come then, I’ll help you look?”

I was going to say no, but her hang dog look stopped me. I didn’t do that much with her except the odd bike ride and it was too far for that. “Get changed and hurry.”

“Yesssir,” she called as she dashed out of the room and I frowned. She reappeared as I was checking out my camera and we collected our boots and jackets and together with my rucksack and small bum-bag, deposited them in the Jag and set off for the woods.

When David said he was doing some baking today, the three mouseketeers asked if they could help, so I left them with him and expected to find them either covered in flour or baked in a pie when I got home. Jacquie was tending the little ones, so Danni and I hopped it before anyone else noticed.

“What are they like, poaching?” she asked

“Probably rabbits, though we do get the odd hare on the edge of the woodland, where we own the surrounding fields.”

“There’s fields there too, I thought it was woodland?”

“It’s unimproved pasture and the local wildlife trust implored us to buy it, so we did.”

“What, you own it?”

“Daddy and I do.”

“Wow, you didn’t tell any of us.”

“It was mainly a paper exercise, and by directly owning it and leasing it to the reserve, I have greater control over it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I got Jason to write the lease. The land is in a trust Daddy and I control and it cannot be used for any agriculture except as a hay meadow and it strictly specifies no chemicals can be used as fertiliser or pesticide. The clauses concerning the lease are tighter than Julie’s jeans.”

“Jeez, they must be tight then,” she smirked.

Arriving at the reserve we had a quick tour of the buildings as they were growing, Dan was using a caravan temporarily as an office but it had mains water, drainage and electricity. The place was moving on apace and it was nice to see we had some hard standing to park the car, so could get off the road. I questioned the builders about anything they might have seen or heard and they did admit they heard shooting earlier on in the week, but assumed it was on a farm. I told them it was unlikely as the reserve owned or leased all the land for nearly a mile in every direction, except the main road. They seemed surprised at that and the fact that I was the director of the centre and thus Dan’s superior. Danni let drop I was a professor, she omitted the acting bit, and there were a few strange looks.

Dan locked his office and we loaded up our stuff and set off on foot to the areas he’d found which had been abused by the poachers. En route we found two snares, one containing a dead rabbit—it had strangled itself. I felt myself getting very angry but held it together long enough to take photos and then destroy the traps with wire cutters, flinging the bits far into the undergrowth.

Danni was visibly upset by the scene of the poor lagomorph’s demise and Dan walked her on a few yards while I covered up the body. It was still warm. About quarter of an hour later we found some cartridge cases—not twelve bore shotgun stuff, but rifle cartridges. Someone was after bigger quarry than bunnies, probably deer. I could see the hay meadows from where I was standing and it tended to indicate that’s possibly where the deer where. We photographed the cartridge cases before picking them up with some latex gloves I had in my pack. Finger prints may be present on them.

The persistent buzzing of flies and tyre tracks showed the deer was closer than we thought. The head and guts were left discarded in the undergrowth and there were signs of blood on the surrounding vegetation. The smell in the warm weather was awful and Danni ran off to vomit while I held my breath to take my photos. It was beginning to look like we had a problem.

I photographed the tyre tracks, one of the wheels had a funny tyre which left a peculiar mark and would be identifiable if we found it. I took measurements to add to the evidence. I was growing angrier by the moment but it was like a cold anger, if I caught the person responsible, I would exact revenge big time and not necessarily through the system.

We found more snares and more tyre tracks with bits of dead deer nearby. If they thought they’d got most of the deer they may not return for a long time. In some ways that suited me. I called Delia and asked her to have some signs made saying that this was a nature reserve and that hunting or snaring was prohibited, as was removal of timber or wild flowers.

She called me back an hour later to say twenty signs would be ready for collection at five o’clock. I’d have to go to Gosport to get them but that was no problem and after our examination of the site, Danni and I left to get a sandwich and drive home.

We stopped at a service station which also has a shop attached, and Danni skipped off to the toilet while I got us some filled rolls and a bottle of water each. As I was paying for the food, I glanced out of the window and Danni was examining the wheels of a 4x4 which had stopped for fuel.

By the time the moron on the cash desk had taken my money there was a heated conversation going on between Danielle and some Neanderthal complete with beard covered heavy jaw and low forehead.

“You were hunting in a nature reserve, you bastard,” called my teenage daughter.

“Piss off, girly before I hunt you.”

“I suggest you try something more your own size,” I said loudly.

“Is that an invitation, darlin’?”

“Only to meet me in court.”

He gave me a strange look and Danni pointed at the tyre, “Look, Mummy, it’s the poacher’s car.”

“Call the police, sweetheart, let’s see if it is.”

As she pulled out her phone to dial, he snatched it from her hand and pushed her over. It might possibly be his last mistake. I dropped the sandwiches and stepped towards him.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2415 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Gimme my phone, you bloody bastard,” called Danni, I needed to talk to her about her language but now didn’t appear to be the best time. I took another step towards him and was aware of people standing to watch.

“Give her back her phone,” I said as menacingly as I could.

“Why, you gonna make me, darlin’?”

If he called me that again I was going to remove all his teeth, one at a time with a lump hammer.

As I stepped towards him again, his partner stepped out of the SUV brandishing the rifle, “Get in the car,” he said to friend, while threatening vaguely with the gun. His friend, still holding Danielle’s phone turned to get in the car and I hurled one of the bottles of water at the back of his head. Normally I couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a shovel, but for once my aim was true and it hit him as he turned, bouncing off the side of his head.

He stepped back out of the car as I leapt at him catching him in the middle of his chest with my leading foot. His body actually lifted off the ground for a moment and he dropped Danni’s phone.

I heard the rifle bolt being pulled back and his friend now held the gun pointing in my direction. The one I’d kicked, stood up and began to come at me. His mate called him back and with some reluctance he complied but not before he spat a threat at me. Danni ran and picked up her phone and the car sped off just as police sirens were heard approaching.

We spent the afternoon at the police station being castigated for trying to intervene with little evidence. I pointed out the gun the second man held and that he’d loaded it, which I think made two offences.

“Three, if he’d discharged it, four if he’d shot you,” replied the detective inspector.

“So why aren’t you arresting them?” I asked angrily.

“Look Dr Watts, we know who they are and where they live. We’ll pick them up eventually.”

“You’ve got the film from the CCTV?”

“Yes, showing you were the aggressor.”

“Only after he’d shoved Danielle and taken her phone.”

“Okay, so there was some provocation.”

“The man with the gun, isn’t carrying one of those in a public place an offence?”

“I know my firearms law, Dr Watts.”

“They were poaching on a listed nature reserve.”

“We only have your word for it, I’m afraid.”

“I have photographs of the aftermath and their tyre tracks.”

“If you could submit them as evidence, that would be useful.”

“I’ll copy them to you if you give me an email address,” I offered.

“Sorry, they have to be originals.”

“I’m happy for you to copy them while I wait, but you’re not keeping the card.”

“I could charge you with withholding evidence about an alleged crime.”

“I’m not withholding it, I’m offering to share it with you, you’re the awkward one.” If I wasn’t intimidated by a bloke with a loaded rifle, I certainly wasn’t going to be worried by an overweight flatfoot.

After he huffed and puffed a bit longer he agreed to upload them on to a police computer. “You haven’t labelled any of them,” he complained.

“That’s why I wanted to send them to you,” you pillock—I didn’t add.

I identified what they were and where on the reserve, showing them a map of the place, which he had photocopied and we then marked on the plan. I also surrendered the cartridge cases we found and he agreed to have them checked for prints.

“Is the site clearly marked as a nature reserve?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, when we catch these guys, we’ll concentrate on the fracas at the petrol station, that’s the more serious crime; but we will investigate the poaching as well.”

“You mean you’ll drop those charges if they cooperate about the garage thing?”

“Not up to me, but they’ll face a prison sentence for waving a loaded gun about.”

“I might go for a private prosecution.”

“Feel free but you’re wasting your time.”

“Perhaps.”

As we left we bumped into Andy Bond. “Lady Cameron, to what do we owe this pleasure?” I heard the DI behind say, “Oh fu£$!” I’m listed as the director of the study site by my maiden name, so that was the one I offered. Some detective.

I called home to let them know we were all right and we then went to Gosport to collect the signs Delia had ordered. At a nearby hardware shop I bought a hammer, a pound of nails and some cable ties.

The rolls I’d dropped at the garage had been wrapped in plastic film so were still eatable, though we needed a new bottle of water. Not feeling too hungry, we returned to the reserve and I began putting up the signs, mostly on trees.

University of Portsmouth/High Street Bank plc.

Nature Reserve.

Hunting is not permitted in the environs of this reserve. Anyone found using a firearm, snare or any other form of trapping or hunting device will be prosecuted.

Removal of timber and wild flowers is prohibited.

With Danni’s help we had them all up in less than an hour and now I was feeling hungry. I suppose we had walked a few miles all in all. Then as we approached the car, there was a bang and a hole appeared in the sign we’d just erected.

“This is a nature reserve,” I shouted at the direction of the gunman, pushing Danni out of the way as I did so. “Call the police,” I hissed at him

“Too bad,” was the response. Another bang sounded and a bigger hole appeared in the notice.

“Stop your firing immediately,” I screamed at them.

“No can do.”

“There are people here,” I shouted as loudly as I could, but he just fired at the notice again

“Stop that now, there are children present.

Another bang and the hole got larger, “Mummy, get down,” urged Danni from behind the tree.

I stepped behind the tree as another bullet tore into the sign. “Have you called the police?” I asked quietly.

“I can’t get a signal. I’m so scared, Mummy.” She began to cry and I hugged her. I tried my phone and there was no signal either. All the same I sent a text to Simon telling him we were under fire at the nature reserve. I knew it would only happen when I got a signal but that might take a little while.

Another bang and some more bark flew off the tree above us, Danni flinched and I held her tightly. We had no weapons to fight back with except a pair of secateurs, a pen knife and a ball of string. Hardly a match for a hunting rifle with telescopic sights.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2416 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The firing became more sporadic and I wondered if they were trying to outflank us, which was unnecessary as they were both bigger than us and possibly each had a gun against my ball of string—perhaps I could use two twigs and knit myself a gun or a crossbow. That got me thinking.

I checked my rucksack again, I had notebook—I always carry one when in the countryside, binoculars, a hand lens, secateurs, penknife, and ball of string. It was possible. I also had the hammer and half a pound of nails. First though, we needed to move.

We crept through the undergrowth for twenty minutes, pausing every now and again to listen to see if our enemies were tracking us. They didn’t seem to be. I cut a piece of hazel about an inch thick and six feet long. I then cut three pieces about a yard long but much more slender. They started shooting at another notice in the opposite direction, I sent Danni off to follow the path back to the study centre and to call the police. She was nervous of going on her own, but I needed to try and make things safe.

She shot off like a gazelle and I set to work on my own defence, including trip wires in all directions. I spent half an hour making my weapons before I heard movement in the bushes heading towards me. The one I’d had the fracas with discovered the trip wire, the hard way, he fell heavily by the sound of it.

“You all right, Kev?” called his friend.

“No, the place is booby trapped, think I’ve broken my ankle, you’ll have to get her.”

“Your wish is my command, okay, Mrs Jaguar, I’d give myself up if I were you, if I have to come and get you, I’m gonna make it much rougher for you.”

As hunters they had very little tracking skills, presumably lamping for deer, which is about shining a very bright light on them at night and they just freeze, you can then release dogs or shoot them. They do it in Australia hunting kangaroo.

“I’m coming to get ya,” he called and walked towards me, hidden behind a bush. His next utterance was a scream as I let fly with my improvised weapon. He screamed some more as I let fly again and this time he dropped his gun rolling about on the ground, moaning and thrashing about. I crept up to him and took the gun taking the bolt out. He wasn’t so boastful now, but he was bleeding quite a bit and probably in shock. I left him and went hunting his friend. Why didn’t I take the rifle? I don’t have a permit.

“Gazza, where are you?” called his friend making it very obvious where he was. A bunch of Brownies would have more idea of woodcraft than this pair. I circled around behind him and jabbed him in the back of his neck ordering him to drop the gun. He did so, then laughed when he saw my weapon.

“You bitch, you conned me with that toy?”

“Toy is it? Tell that to your friend, he’s currently passed out from blood loss and I hit him from twenty feet.”

I went to tie up his hands but he grabbed my ankle and pulled me over. “I’m gonna kill you, bitch.” He drew a sheath knife from his belt and with one hand on my throat he couldn’t stop me grabbing my secateurs and stabbing him hard in the groin. Boy did he scream, especially when I did it again. He rolled on the ground writhing in pain. Moments later the cavalry arrived complete with armed response unit and helicopter overhead. I immediately surrendered and let the police take over.

Once again at the police station I faced the detective inspector, this time with Jason sitting beside me. “You realise I could charge you with attempted murder?”

“I doubt you’d make that stick and you know it,” countered Jason, “The two men had rifles, Lady Cameron had improvised weapons.”

“They look like toys, but we’ve got two men in hospital because of them. Why didn’t you run with the girl?”

“I needed to make sure she got away to call for help.”

“What if they’d caught you?”

“They didn’t, did they?”

“They had guns f’Chrissake.”

“I had noticed, but this deer fought back.”

“Bit of an understatement. I mean this thing, it’s like something I made when I was a kid. Fancy y’self as Maid Marion?” He shrugged. “It’s a clever bit of impro, that’s for sure, but I wouldn’t have thought it would stop a man—but it did, didn’t it.”

“He walked towards me telling me how he was going to sexually assault me before he killed me and then he was going to do my daughter.”

“So you decided to take him out?”

“I tried to even the odds a little.”

“So you shot his bollocks off?”

“I was aiming for his leg.”

“And the second arrow?”

“He was screaming at me and waving the gun at me so I fired at his arm.”

“You aimed this thing?”

“Roughly, I hit his shoulder.”

“And he dropped his gun.”

“Yes, I took the bolt out of it and dropped it in the bushes out of his reach.”

“Then went after the other guy?”

“Only to detain him until you arrived.”

“Stabbing him in the bollocks twice.”

“Only because he was going to kill me, you saw the knife he dropped.”

“Because you cut his dick off.”

“I had a pair of secateurs in my hand, the other was trying to stop him perforating me with a rather large knife, anywhere on his body was a target.”

The questioning went on for another two hours before they released me on bail. For those of you who hadn’t worked out what I did, I made a simple long bow but with about twenty pounds pull, so good enough for close range. The arrows I lashed three nails to the end of them and cut flights from the cover of my notebook. The nails were sharp enough to penetrate clothing and cause a nasty wound. I aimed higher than I would normally because of the weight on the arrow head. I was genuinely aiming for the top of his leg when he stepped forward and I hit his groin, no wonder he yelled a bit. The second was a head shot but he moved again and I hit his shoulder, he went down then.

I told the story to Simon who goldfished. “Bloody hell, woman, you could have killed them.”

“I think that was their intention, I have no regrets. Danni was safe, that was my priority, then my own safety.”

“Don’t tell me, then the deer.”

“Of course.”

“You realise they could do you for armed assault, or grievous bodily harm?”

“They can try.”

“What if their defence claims they only wanted to talk, to apologise for the misunderstanding earlier?”

“I’d tell them to ask their clients why they spent half an hour terrorising us, shooting the signs we’d put up, if they just wanted to talk and shooting the signs doesn’t tend to show they were feeling apologetic. No, they were intent on hurting or killing us.”

“And you weren’t?”

“If that were the case, why didn’t I just take the rifle and shoot them both?”

“Okay, I’ll believe you.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2417 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Done a bit of research on you,” said the DI, “You used to be a bloke, is that why you tried to give both those men sex-change operations?”

“If that’s what you think, I’d prefer to talk to an officer who’s less transphobic.”

“I’m not any phobic, but the rumour is that you changed a bunch of kids you adopted into girls.”

“I’m not here to discuss rumours, but I did adopt several transgender children because no one else would, and I gave them space to explore gender roles. We agreed as a family that we’d accept whatever they felt themselves to be and let them choose names, clothes and pronouns accordingly.”

“You think a seven year old can decide what sex they should be?”

“We took advice from an experienced paediatric psychiatrist, who supervised the whole procedure.”

“Giving a sex change to a kid—don’t you think that’s unhealthy?”

“Not as unhealthy as forcing them to be something they clearly are not because that’s what convention dictates.”

“But you waited until you were an adult before you did it.”

“Because my parents refused to recognize the signs I presented.”

He shook his head.

“I preferred to play with dolls and tea sets. I swapped a football for a doll. I played dress up in nursery, I was the Virgin Mary in the school nativity play.”

“So if you turned out all right by changing over as an adult, why didn’t you make your children do the same?”

“I’m AIS, which means my body doesn’t recognize testosterone. I didn’t have a male puberty, I had a female one when I started on oestrogen, but my body was already feminine from the hormones I produced naturally.”

“Did you check if any of your children were the same?”

“Some of them are natural females, the rest were not AIS.”

“What is that?”

“Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome; in extreme cases the child grows up with the body of a female and isn’t aware there’s anything wrong until they don’t menstruate after puberty.”

He looked deep in thought. “Is that what happened to Elizabeth the first?”

“Possibly, they suggest Wallis Simpson and Jamie Lee-Curtis are prime examples.”

“You perhaps should include yourself in that category. I apologise for drawing erroneous conclusions, but you are a very unusual lady—quite the tomboy at times. I mean, how many women would think of making a bow and arrows from bits of stick and a ball of string?”

“I don’t honestly know, but in my parent’s zeal to make me boy, I was spoon fed Biggles’ books, and he repaired his Sopwith camel with a rubber band and some chewing gum, so I suppose it encouraged me to think of improvising repairs on bicycles—the ten pound note to repair a tear in a tyre, shoving grass into a tyre that was without an inner-tube, using string or a cable-tie to repair cables or gears and so on.”

“So making weapons would be easy to an amateur engineer?”

“I don’t know, but that’s what happened.”

“When you made them you presumably had the intention of causing deliberate harm, did you not?”

“My primary aim was to protect Danni and myself from the two men who declared they were going to hurt us and were firing bullets at the notices we’d just put up and then at us.”

“They said the notices were already damaged when they got there.”

“Danielle and I had only just put them up, hence the hammer and nails.”

“So they were lying?”

“Yes.”

“And you were still putting the notices up when they fired upon you?”

“No, we’d finished by a few minutes and they shot at the notices first, then at us when I told them it was illegal to shoot on a nature reserve.”

“It’s illegal to shoot at people wherever you are in this country.”

“Did you know your daughter took photos of them shooting at you?”

“Did she?” I didn’t know.

“So why can’t you accept I acted in self defence?”

“Because you made weapons and that means you were intending to use them.”

“In self defence, which is what I did.”

“Okay, you can go, Lady Cameron, but don’t leave town without telling us first.”

“I’m supposed to be going to Menorca for two weeks.”

“Out of the question.”

We’ll see, I felt like saying but held my tongue. No point in giving away my plans. I drove home to a delicious meal that David had cooked us for lunch. I wasn’t that hungry but the others were, so it soon disappeared.

The day remained fine and quite warm, so we did the laundry and got it line dried, it smells so much nicer than indoor drying.

“What did the police want?” asked Stella, direct as usual.

“Me to confess to trying to turn the two attackers into girls.”

“By shooting them in the shoulder?”

“That was the second shot, the first did stick in his groin.”

“Deliberately?”

“No, too small a target, I was aiming for his leg.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I am, what sort of woman d’you think I am?”

“A very brave one.”

“Eh?” she completely wrong footed me.

“It takes balls to stand and fight against overwhelming force,” she smiled at me, “and you still have them, metaphorically of course.”

I gave her a frown and she fell about laughing. “You are so predictable, Cathy. You’re female now, so get over it.”

She’s never understood the way that such remarks wound and how hypersensitive we are about them, and no matter how often I tell her she forgets or ignores it. I just try to ignore it but it’s still hurtful, like criticizing a woman for being unable to bear children or even to get pregnant—which would also hurt me. I can’t seem to win.

“The copper seemed to think I enjoy turning boys into girls.”

“It does seem a huge coincidence in this family, but that’s all it is. Look, they all seem happier as girls…”

“Except Danni,” I interrupted.

“Danni’s case was a little different, but she seems to be adapting to life as a young woman.”

“Who does?” asked Danni walking through the kitchen.

“We were discussing the interview with the police your mum had.”

“Oh yeah, what of it?”

“He accused her of turning boys into girls…” continued Stella and Danni rolled her eyes.

“They mostly did it theirselves,” she interjected, “’cept me of course, but coulda been worse. If I grow up to be as cool a woman as Mummy, I’ll be quite proud of myself, like I am of her. You’re a kewel jewel of a woman, Ma.” She gave me a huge hug and with tears in her eyes added, “I was really frightened in that wood, but I knew as long as you were there we’d be safe.”

“I think you might have had a bit more confidence in me than I did, kiddo; but thanks for saying so.” I hugged her back and we all chuckled a little.

Ten minutes later I was back to my emails listening to the Sibelius violin concerto and while Nigel Kennedy played the fiddle, I played the professor, acting of course.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2418 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Simon was livid when I told him about my meeting with the detective inspector and he passed on his irritation to Jason who came round for dinner. After eating a delicious turkey casserole and strawberry cheesecake, we adjourned to my study.

I narrated the meeting as best I could recall it. He made notes. “This the same guy we saw before?” he asked and I confirmed it was. “That was outrageous, even if he changed his mind later, he had no right to accuse you of trying to cause your children to want to change gender. I’ll demand an apology.”

“I’m more concerned with him telling me I can’t go abroad.”

“What?” he gasped, “You’re on a hundred K bail, no one skips off for that amount.”

“I was planning on going for a fortnight.”

“Leave it with me, I’ll speak to the court.”

“I don’t want to have to report to a Spanish cop shop.”

He laughed.

“It’s not funny.”

“Thinking of you trying to make the Spanish police understand what you were there for might have been, especially if they don’t speaka da Inglesè.”

“This isn’t Monty Python’s flying bloody circus.”

“I went and saw that.”

“What the live show?”

“Yeah, totally brilliant, even at their ages.”

“So back to the matter in hand, can I rely on you to get the court to allow me to take my kids to Menorca?”

“As good as done, milady,” he said bowing.

“Thank you, kind sir,” I dropped a curtsey.

“Cathy, how could he pretend to see you as anything but female and gorgeous?”

“I accept that not everyone does.”

“But only the blind or the bigoted.”

“What if he’s both?”

“And remain a detective—bit difficult.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve had the odd blind cab driver.”

“You what?” he chuckled shaking his head.

“Carry on with your holiday plans, I’ll speak to the court and also to the plod.”

“Thank you, Jason.”

“My pleasure, madam,” he winked and went off home, I followed behind and heard him thanking David for a splendid meal. It always pays to thank the cook

I spent the rest of the evening doing parental things, washing or ironing and then reading more Gaby stories to the assembled throng. Apparently there’s twelve of them and we only have eleven. How did they know that? Sammi told them, so how did she know? I’d have to ask her and order the latest one.

After a chapter they all went off to sleep—no it wasn’t that boring—they were relaxed and zonked. Danni then took the book to read, “Why did it have to be cycling, why couldn’t she have been a soccer queen?”

“Not everyone loves soccer as much as you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but cycling—it’s such a naff sport, innit?”

She was trying to wind me up, she loves cycling almost as much as football, and it was her who sat with me sewing as we watched both the Commonwealth road races and the London race last weekend.

“Yeah, anyone who rides a bike is pretty naff, especially girls.” I agreed upping the ante.

“But you ride.”

“Think I’ll give it up, too naff.”

“Ha ha, you’d cut off your leg first.”

“That could make cycling a bit difficult.”

“What could?”

“Cutting off my leg.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It was you who said it, not I.”

“No I didn’t—did I?” she blushed and looked five years younger. You really wouldn’t know this child used to be a boy, so quickly have the hormones transformed her. Yet when she was one, I didn’t think of her as feminine, strange how perception changes with experience.

“You said I’d rather cut my leg off than give up cycling.”

“Did I? But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“I’ll answer that if you’ll answer a question for me.”

“Okay—was that the question?”

“No, was that yours?”

“Grrr,” she growled at me, “no wonder Daddy’s so strange living with you, Mummy.”

“I think you’ll find he was strange long before he met me, though of course he won’t admit it.”

“I love you, Mummy,” she said and suddenly hugged me sobbing in my arms.

“Oh, sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

“Those two men with guns, they were so frightening. They scared me half to death.”

“It’s okay, they won’t ever frighten you again.”

“How d’you know that, Mummy?”

“Because I intend to see they go to prison for a long time.”

“But they’ll get out and maybe come looking for us.”

“I won’t lie, they could, but it’s very unlikely because they could end up in prison again.”

“They must have known that before, yet they wanted to hurt us—why? We didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“I don’t know if they thought things through properly before. They’ll certainly have some time to do it now, besides, they came off worse and that was without any proper weapons. That we have Gramp’s shotgun and my bows, they shouldn’t be too difficult to persuade to leave.”

“If Daddy’s here we’ll be safe,” she said seemingly ignoring my part in their rout.

“I expect so, now how about an early night?”

We hugged again and she went off to bed with the Gaby book. She didn’t stay there, about two she wandered into our bedroom and I left her to cuddle with Si while I went to sleep in her bed. Once I got off, I slept quite well—no snoring.

I hoped that this wouldn’t last too long because it was going to play havoc with my sleep, not to mention doing little for Simon’s reputation if anyone found out he slept with his thirteen year old daughter. If it happened again, I’d get the folding bed put up in our room—not an ideal solution, and it would play hell with our sex lives.

I heard Simon and Sammi leave, returning to my own bed to have a short cuddle with Danni who was fast asleep. I was soon back asleep myself and I awoke two hours later with a head like a bucket—a metal one, that had just been struck by a hammer. It was thus with some difficulty that I dragged myself into the shower while Danni went off to get some clothes from her own room.

“You’re late for brekkies, Mummy,” accused Trish.

“I overslept, all right.”

Trish burst into tears and rushed off from the table nearly knocking Tom over as she did so.

“Whit’s thae matter wi’ Trish?”

“She asked a silly question and received a silly answer.”

“Och, why d’ye nae gang an’ comfort her?”

“It was me she asked the silly question.”

“Och weel that explains it.”

I felt like slapping him, talk about judgemental. He went off after Trish and I decided they could sort things out between them. Quite honestly I didn’t actually care, I had bigger fish to fry.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2419 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I drove into the university, thank goodness it was Friday and I could relax for two whole days. I determined I wasn’t even going to switch on my computer once I got home that evening. Danni came to the office with me, she was going to do some filing for me, supervised by Delia. Her outfit surprised me, she wore tiny shorts with tights and ankle boots plus a skimpy top and thin jacket. For someone who claimed to be a boy really, she had me fooled, not that it’s difficult. She was also made up to the nines and had spent a bit of time doing her hair as well. Every time she moved her wrist, her bracelets tinkled which would have driven me mad, she’d become so girly—yet she was determined to stay near me until the two thugs who’d frightened her were locked up for a long period.

With Delia’s help, I waded through a mountain of paperwork, signing this or that and at the same time, I kept a note of things that occurred to me while I was dealing with things. If I was acting head of department for any length of time, things might change more permanently. Another part of me felt like it would be nice to retire and spend Simon’s cash, but I’d be itching to get stuck into wildlife again. I’m an ecologist, it’s what I do.

After lunch, Danni went to see Cindy and Carly—ah, now it became apparent why the OTT outfit for the university. So she was going to see them and like any self respecting female, competing with them. What we compete for is anyone’s business, but it’s what we do and that applies to ordinary women and we neo-females.

The afternoon was a struggle to stay awake, should I have had the glass of beer? It certainly tasted fresh but the consequences of wanting to sleep made me question the validity of the meal. I shouldn’t have had the beer, that was just asking for trouble and I’m silly not to have seen the consequences, but I closed my eyes for just a moment and nearly fell off the chair when Delia knocked the door and announced a visitor.

I struggled to open my eyes, yawning as I did so, gulping in oxygen to restart my comatose brain. “Who did you say it was?” I asked her.

“The chair of the university GLBT society.”

“Who?” I didn’t even know we had one.

“Sharon Stone, Professor.”

I must have done a double take because she laughed, “Not the American actress, but a lecturer from the technology department. Could she have a word?”

“Any chance of a cuppa?” I asked, my mouth feeling like a camel’s armpit.

“Of course, Professor.”

“What’s with the professor stuff?” I hissed at her.

“The dean told me it was your formal title.”

“It’s only a temporary thing.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, then,” she smirked back at me and held the door open while Ms Sharon Stone entered. Any resemblance to the American movie star ended with the name. This Ms Stone was tall, very tall, about six feet including the stilt high court shoes she wore. She offered a long hand upon which were elegantly painted nails in a hot pink colour which matched her shoes and bag. She wore navy suit with hot pink scooped neck top, visible through the open suit jacket; her skirt ended mid thigh showing her glossy navy tights. Round her neck she wore a chunky necklace that matched the blue of her suit. Her bleached blonde hair was long and reached below her shoulders and her makeup was as elegant as the rest of her. I felt slightly intimidated by this creature who should have been lunching at a private club on the arm of an executive as she towered over me making me feel scruffy. I was clad in a black tee shirt with Tour de France logos all over it and Yorkshire 2014 written across the front, and black linen pants which ended mid calf showing my bare legs down to my black mary jane barred shoes. My hair was clean but pulled back into a ponytail and I wore no makeup. I did have a gold chain round my neck with matching bracelet and small diamond ear studs.

“I’m so glad to meet you at long last, Professor Watts.”

“How d’you do?” I replied still trying to take on board someone who looked as if they’d just escaped from Harvey Nicks window.

I offered her a seat and she sat elegantly—did she do everything elegantly? I felt clumsy and scruffy by comparison, sitting more heavily than I usually did, my body still trying to wake itself up from its impromptu nap.

Before my visitor could explain her presence, Delia returned with two cups of tea, well mugs, though they should have been bone china cups and saucers to match her outfit. She left taking the paperwork I’d finished before lapsing into snooze mode, smirking behind my visitor as she closed my office door.

“What can I do for you?” I enquired sipping my tea.

“Professor Watts, this is a real privilege.” Her husky voice was a bit like Lauren Bacall’s.

“You’ve lost me I’m afraid.”

“You’re the most famous teacher on the staff, a television celebrity, author, film maker, and aristocrat’s wife.”

“So?” I failed to see what relevance that had on anything, and she forgot banker’s wife.

“We’d like you to be patron of the university Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans group.”

I am still astonished that I didn’t spray tea all over the papers on my desk, almost as astonished as I was by her request. There was no way I was going to agree to it.

“I don’t honestly think I’d have time,” which was true on a number of levels.

“It won’t involve much time, perhaps a few letters and showing your lovely face at the AGM, that’s about it really.”

“Why me?”

“Lady Cameron, if I might call you that, your name and title carry a bit more weight than mere academic ones.”

“I’m not sure I agree, I had to work for my PhD, I only had to marry Simon for the title.”

“You’ve helped with gay and trans students in the past, counselling or representing them.”

“I’ve done the same with non GLBT students as well and they don’t want me to act as patron.”

Here it comes, my history is to be dropped on my desk. “We know about your having a transgender daughter or two.”

“I’m not sure my children are of interest to the university or any of its agents,” I said defensively.

“I know Julie, she cuts my hair.”

“I’m not sure of the relevance of my daughter to your group.”

“When I told her of my transition and said she was lucky being a natural female, she fell over laughing. She confided in me that she was transgender as well.”

“Actually, she’s now legally female.”

“Yes, so am I.”

How had I missed it, her hands and feet were a little large, but so was the rest of her. I glanced at her face and neck and everything seemed well—elegant.

“Full facial surgery,” she said blushing.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2420 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“I’m sorry?” I said feeling as bewildered as I probably looked.

“Sorry, I thought you’d know all the terminology. Full facial surgery, cost me a fortune, brow shaved, jaw line altered, cheeks built up, nose job, lips plumped, tracheal shave and vocal cords shortened.”

“Geez,” I said, feeling I was talking to the bionic woman.

“Then the breast implants, nipple improvement, lipo on the waist, bum enhancement, plus the vaginoplasy and clit job.”

“Is there any of the original left?” I asked perhaps impertinently.

“Oh yeah, few more things to do.”

“Why, you look fine to me.”

“That’s okay for you to say, but you have the advantage of being female, and a very beautiful one.”

“But you look fine, too.”

“Not fine enough,” she drained her mug.

“Without wishing to seem rude, you haven’t got a surgery fetish, have you?”

“Perhaps a trifle, but I want to be perfect.”

“But nobody’s perfect.”

“That isn’t what my students were saying, boys and girls, when we did your dormouse film in media studies.”

I suppose it was fair game, a film by one of the staff being analysed by another department.

“Your beauty, poise, knowledge and presentation skills were perfect. You got ten out of ten each time we looked at anything.”

“That was probably Alan’s editing and continuity.”

“No, we also looked at your Scottish play—considering you’re not listed as a professional actor, it was a great performance. I also heard you talk at the school and showed some out-takes. You are a natural.”

“How did you manage that?”

“My niece is there, my sister asked me to go with her. She thought you were lovely, too.”

Oh geez, the whole family is potty.

“So you’d be brilliant as patron of our group.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Please think it over, see our brochure—it’s very important that we have the right person—and you’d be perfect, a happily married and respected academic, mother of transgender daughter plus other kids, film maker, public speaker and aristocrat’s wife. Plus you’re beautiful, clever and brilliant at communicating.”

“This sounds like more than showing my face at your AGM, I’m simply too busy. I’ve got two little ones under four, d’you realise how much time they need? I’ve got four girls at St Clare’s—I don’t have time.”

“Please think it over...”

“Why? I won’t have any more time then than I have now. It’s very flattering, but seriously, I’m saying no and meaning it. I won’t change my mind tomorrow or the next day. Sorry. Now if that’s it, I have to dash off to a meeting with the dean in...” I looked at my watch, “six minutes.”

She rose from the chair. “Julie said you wouldn’t do it because you were too busy, but I had to try. Thanks for seeing me,” she placed her empty mug on my desk—well, okay, Tom’s desk—and shook hands with me again. Her hand was much bigger than mine and seemed to engulf it up to my wrist. “You really are beautiful in the flesh, even more than on camera.”

“Sure, I haven’t even got any makeup on and I’m hardly dressed for visitors.”

“You don’t need makeup, my dear, you look perfect as you are, and Julie said you were a bike nut.”

I wondered if she was crazy or needed to see a good optician.

She left her publicity brochure behind and I was tempted to drop it in the bin but I didn’t. I glanced at it, I’d send them a donation to buy off my conscience. I’d anticipated she’d know my history, she didn’t or if she did, she’d given it a blind eye. I didn’t want anything to do with an association which could remind people of things I’d prefer they just forgot, like my original status. But I was also too thinly spread now, too busy, too rushed, neglecting my children for someone else’s. I finished what I was doing and went home.

The rest of the day went by consumed by children vying for my attention or David asking questions about the menus for the following few days. At one point I nearly said something but bit my tongue and went to the loo where I sat and managed to detach myself from the situation and realised he was only trying to do his job as well as he could.

It felt as if no one could make a decision without me instructing them, but then when I thought about it, it was easy to see why. I was head of the household in essence despite Tom or Simon seeming to be so on paper. I made the rules in the house so people deferred to me. I was in charge of the woodland study centre, so I made decisions there—Dan had authority to make small ones but I was his boss. The same in my department in the bank and the university, I was in charge up to a certain level, controlling budgets and staff levels, recruitment of students, curriculum, research topics and so on. Above that was Tom as acting dean, but if I have to go to him, except to make reports or progress reports, I’ve failed. Baptism of fire goes nowhere near describing it.

It was expected of me, that I would direct and guide those in my charge or care. I was lady of the manor and thus discharge of those sorts of obligations should have been in my genes or education or culture—except they weren’t. I went to a grammar school not a public school like Si and Stella. I was brought up as a boy—the superior male sex—except I wasn’t one and treated as an inferior one by most other males and some females as well.

Everything in my background seemed to prepare me for middle class dreariness, being in the middle layers of everything, whereas the high fliers from private schools and Oxbridge soared to the stars. I was in a system that was readying me to be a lieutenant not a captain and somehow the universe projected and promoted me beyond that expectancy. When things happened, I took control if there was no one else to do so, sometimes despite there being someone with more expertise, it fell to me to do my own thing, assert myself.

It seemed either the universe was pushing me beyond my comfort zone to see what I could cope with, or I was an example of the Peter Principle, which showed I’d been promoted to the level of my incompetence. I supposed there might be a bit of both involved but it appeared that was where I was. The difference between my form of command and many others was method. I only gave orders when requests didn’t work, and I liked to think I led people not drove them. I certainly seemed to work as hard as any.

As I washed my hands in the cloakroom, I stared at myself in the mirror and instead of feeling burdened by authority or responsibility, I said to myself, “This is how it is, they need you to guide them, to lead them. Stop complaining and do it, because no one else will.” I then went out, dealt with David calmly and had a cuppa with him. Dinner was fine.

Afterwards I managed to grab Julie; “I’d like a word with you, young lady...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2421 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“How did Ms Sharon Stone get my name?”

“Oh, she did it then?” Julie blushed a lovely shade of crimson.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Look, I only cut her hair.”

“And very nice the cut was, too,” I lied, I hadn’t looked beyond the long bleached locks.

“Yeah, well it was quiet and she started talking about all this surgery she’d had and then revealed she used to be a man.”

“You sound as if it was a surprise.”

“It was, I hadn’t spotted her.”

“And why did you tell her about me?”

“I didn’t exactly, she told me she taught at the university and I said my mum did too. She asked who you were in case she knew you—well how was I to know?”

“Go on,” I kept a serious face.

“I said you were a biologist. So she said about one of them making a delightful film about dormice, an’ I said, ‘That’s my mum.’ I didn’t say anything else, honest.”

“I suppose it’s not that hard to find me from that information. Why did you tell her you were trans?”

“I couldn’t believe she was and she didn’t think I was, and it just popped out.”

“Be very careful, next time it could be used against you.”

“There won’t be a next time, don’t worry. She’s good though, isn’t she?”

“Julie, she’s had so much plastic surgery that if she went out in the sun there’d be a danger she’d melt.”

“I thought she looked rather elegant.”

“For a robot.”

“What?” gasped Julie.

“There’s something wrong with her, no one has all that done if they’re normal.”

“I did wonder if she had a surgery fetish.”

“Surgery fetish, unless she has a friend who’s the surgeon, she must be very wealthy or heavily in debt.”

“I think she’s quite well off, Old Etonian, that sort of thing.”

“She’d need to be, she’s had possibly a hundred thousand pounds worth of alterations—that was more than the extension on this house.”

“Crikey, I didn’t think it was that much.”

“There’s barely anything above the knees she hasn’t had altered.”

“And below.”

“I don’t recall her talking about anything there.”

“She had her bunions sorted.”

“Did she indeed?”

“Insisted on showing me, very neat job.”

“I cannot believe anyone who has that much surgery done will ever find true happiness.”

“Why d’you say that, Mum?”

“Trying to achieve perfection.”

“Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“It’s impossible.”

“Is it, I thought Sharon looked pretty good.”

“She can’t smile or her face would crack.”

“You menopausal or something?” Julie flung at me.

“Very funny.”

“Well you seem exceptionally bitchy today.”

“She asked me if I would become patron of the university LGBT group.”

“When would you have time to do that?”

“That was my main escape route.”

“Not surprised. She didn’t say she was going to see you.”

“She tried to use the fact that I had a trans daughter to involve me in her group.”

“She hasn’t done her homework very well has she?”

“She seemed to imply she thought I was naturally female.”

“She seemed to think that about me as well, she doesn’t have much in the way of recognising other trans people does she?”

“What sort of trans gaydar?”

“Yeah.”

“Having said that, some of the youngsters put on blockers and hormones early, will be indistinguishable from bio females.”

“Not to mention one or two oldies as well,” she smirked at me.

“I can see signs.”

“What, on you?”

“Yes, who else?”

“C’mon then, show me,” Julie dared me.

“My hips are narrow.”

“I’ve seen you in a bikini—they aren’t.”

“My head is too big.”

“No it isn’t, you wear hats and they fit okay.”

“My feet are too big.”

“Rubbish, you take a size six, so do loads of other women.”

“Could she be a plant?”

“What like in dahlia?”

“No you nit, as in pretending to be one thing while really being another, and why?”

“Is this normal paranoia, or special delusional variety.”

“Jules, did you pick up on her being anything but normal and female?”

“No I didn’t ’till she told me.”

“No, neither did I, so what does she want?”

“I dunno.”

We were in my study and I called up the university web page and looked through the departments. In media studies there was no member of that faculty called Sharon Stone.

“Who was she then?”

“I have no idea, nor what she wanted but I suspect she knew who you were and her telling you about herself was total garbage to lull you into a false sense of trust. After all, when someone tells you they’re TS it often causes you to reveal as well, even if you weren’t planning on it. So presumably, she found a couple of leaflets and carried them around to give her credibility. I didn’t see an ID badge, though I don’t always wear mine.”

“What did she want?”

“I have no idea, but there had to be a reason for her wanting to see me, or my office.”

“Gramp’s old office?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing much to see, is there?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but let’s have a word with the font of all knowledge...”

“Ye’re jokin’, ye think she came by tae look inside ma office?”

“I can’t think of anything else.”

“Better speak tae security t’morrow.”

“I will. I think I’ll have a word with the police as well.”

“Aye, guid idea.”

“If we had a photo it would help,” I lamented.

“Ye shud hae ain, there’s CCTV in reception.”

“I was never told about that,” it was too late to stand on my dignity.

“Aye, well we only put it there to see hoo early ye knocked off.”

“I’ll speak with Delia tomorrow.”

“No ye won’t, it’s Saturday t’morrow.”

“Okay I won’t.”

He smiled. “I’ll show ye where thae down loads are.”

“Thanks, Daddy, I knew you’d be useful for something one of theses day.”

“Ye cheeky wee nyaff. Clear off afore I skelp yer lug.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2422 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

At breakfast the next morning Julie asked me, “You don’t think that Stone woman was TS at all, do you?”

“No.”

“So what is her game then?”

“I don’t know, but I aim to find out.”

“How?”

“If I can get a picture of her, James might be able to do something.”

“I thought you said you were going to do something?”

“I am, employing James. I have no idea what the kids are doing let alone complete strangers.”

“I wonder if she’ll show up at the salon again.”

“I doubt it, Jules, unless she’s dumber than we thought or thinks you are.”

“Why would she think I’m dumb?” asked Julie.

“Because she’s perceptive, perhaps,” fired Phoebe advancing towards the table with a coffee.

“Huh? I thought you were supposed to be on my side, girl solidarity and all that,” complained the older sibling.

“I’m not the one who loaned that old biddy a tenner to get home—I’ll bet she hasn’t returned with the money, has she?”

“She will, you watch.”

“I doubt it, then she’ll pretend she forgot. Honestly, some of these old biddies are worse than organised crime.” Phoebe had a bit of a problem with old ladies by the sound of it.

“Did you see this Stone woman?” I asked.

“A stone woman, like a sculpture?”

“No, someone who said her name was Sharon Stone.”

“Who’s Sharon Stone?”

“The ‘Merican actress who flashed her muff in Basic Instinct.”

“What’s a muff, Mummy?” asked Trish.

“Apart from something to keep your hands warm, I think perhaps your sister would like to explain,” I smiled Julie and sat back to enjoy the payback for her vulgarity.

“It’s slang.” She was blushing profusely and Phoebe smirked.

“Yeah and...” Trish bated her.

“It’s girly bits, all right?”

“What like beaver?” asked Trish disingenuously.

“I think that’s enough of such language at the breakfast table, don’t you?” I suspected that Trish already knew the term but was using it to tease Julie, who falls for it all the time.

Julie and Phoebe went off to the salon and I cleared up the breakfast dishes and put the washer on. Then it was time to call James. “Oh great goddess of the pudden race.”

“That’s a misquotation about a haggis, should be, ‘Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race.”

“Goodness, a Scot who knows her Burns.”

“Ah, if I did a BA, a MA, and PhD in Scottish poetry, would that constitute third degree burns?”

“Could I suppose, I’ve heard the one about the burn’s unit.”

“So have I several times, especially on Burns’ night after Daddy has had a few single malts.”

“Too peaty for me, prefer blended.”

“I don’t like any of them, can’t stand the smell let alone the taste.”

“What, it’s Scottish nectar.”

“It might be to you, not me. Anyway, I suspect you were about to ask me why I was calling.”

“It was to be the next thing I said, dear lady.”

“Dear? You’re the expensive one.”

“One’s talents have to be reflected in one’s fees.”

“I suspect you overcharge me regularly.”

“My heart bleeds at your scorn, dear lady,” James should have been an actor—doing farce. For the next ten or fifteen minutes I filled him on things as I knew them and he sounded rather surprised. “What is she after?”

“If I knew that I could save your fees, so be grateful for small mercies.”

“I am, great chieftain—can you have a woman chieftain?”

“Don’t see why not,” I replied despite being far from convinced.

“Just checking, boss.”

I had agreed to see if there were any photos of our mysterious visitor, once Tom had explained where it was kept and how I could extract the frame I wanted. I took Trish with me and between us we just about managed to do what was required and I carried tenderly the image we’d recovered. Thankfully, I’d placed it in one of those plastic pockets because it was peeing down as we left there.

The weather had lost its summer feeling, the hot sunshine being replaced with squally showers as hurricane something or other, deposited bits of the Caribbean on top of us. It had taken on a distinctly autumnal feel.

I emailed the image from work but just in case it hadn’t worked, I’d also emailed home and we had the picture as a further back up. It seemed unlikely the email had failed, but with my luck lately, I wasn’t taking chances. Back at home, I had a confirmation from James that it had been received. I could now relax, especially as Hilary had fed the dormice, which Trish enjoyed seeing. Some of them were far tamer than they were supposed to be and I had to decide if we released them or kept them over the winter. That was always a tricky question depending upon the weather we had and skill of the dormouse in surviving. Trish had offered to run classes in nest building for them—yeah, she was in that sort of mood.

We hadn’t received any notice from Jason that the court had lifted its restriction on travel, so we couldn’t start packing. However, we grabbed a few bits and pieces on the way home just in case he said we could go.

Simon emailed him after lunch and we waited for a response. There was none, so Si sent him a text. Still no response. Si phoned his office and one of his juniors answered. Jason was abroad representing the UK government versus the EU. That was how he made most of his money, not fiddling with tiny cases like ours. He did that when things were quiet or as a favour to Simon, who he’d known for years.

His underling was a little evasive and we suspected he should have done something about our case and had forgotten or messed it up. Jason would be back that night and we left a message for him to call us. He apparently had forgotten to ask his staff to approach the court. Jason would now have to find a judge who’d was prepared to see him on a Sunday. That would be quite a challenge in itself, then to get him to find in our favour, was another.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2423 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Sunday morning, the phone rang early and I almost fell out of bed trying to answer it. “Yes?”

“Cathy, it’s Jason, I’ve got an appointment with a judge for eleven o’clock.”

“Good luck,” I wished him.

“Sorry, I want you there as well.”

“Oh, why?”

“Because sometimes they like to interview the person concerned.”

“Oh,” this didn’t sound like the cakewalk he’d suggested a few days before, perhaps I’d better pack Trish, she’s the one who chats with judges.

“Dress up as feminine as possible, I want to concentrate on the fact you were a woman defending one of your daughters.”

“I wasn’t running about in a ball gown in the woods, you know?”

“I’m well aware of that, Cathy, but I want to highlight the fact that you were very vulnerable against two men.”

“With hunting rifles.”

“I was coming to that, so best dress and look as feminine as possible.”

“Want me to bring the baby, I can breast feed her in front of him if you wish.”

“That would be brilliant but I suspect it might be seen as over egging the pudding.”

I glanced at the clock it was seven and Lizzie was stirring, if I fed her for breakfast I could get away with not doing it until later, she could have solids for lunch. I’d have to speak with Jacquie—goodness, I hope she hasn’t made any plans.

“Who was that?” asked Si as I got out of bed and picked Lizzie out of her cot.

“Jason, he wants me to go to see the judge with him.”

“Want me to come?”

“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart, but I think the children will need you more than I do.”

“Oh, so make do babysitter, is it?”

I’ve just looked after them for three weeks and he complains about doing it for a few hours. I decided to hold my tongue because the broadside I’d have fired would have sunk him without trace.

“Darling, you’re always saying how you never spend much time with them, now’s your chance to put that right.”

He went off to shower while I changed the baby and fed her. He did come down and make some tea while Lizzie was sucking my boobs inside out, so I shouldn’t complain too much. After I finished it was a quickie breakfast and dash up to the shower and dress. We had to go to Brighton apparently and with it being holiday time we were going early just in case.

“Nice outfit,” commented Jason as I got into his car.

“It’s one of Stella’s cast offs.”

“Looks expensive.”

“I expect it was, it’s Nina Ricci, so’s the bag.”

“It certainly looks classy and feminine.”

“I thought that was what you wanted?”

“Exactly so, I just thought I’d tell you so by way of a compliment. You’re a beautiful woman, Cathy, especially when you dress up.”

I felt myself blushing, was he coming on to me?

We spoke very little all the way to Brighton. He followed instructions from his sat nav and we were there at half past ten. Suddenly, the sky darkened and it absolutely poured down for ten minutes. My outfit had a lacy jacket but it wouldn’t keep me dry in such a storm, besides instead of looking feminine and elegant I’d resemble something dragged home by an otter or even a seal, north Atlantic grey, of course.

Jason pressed a button and the boot of his Mercedes opened whereupon he jumped out of the car and reappeared with a golfing umbrella. At five to eleven we presented ourselves at chambers and were shown in to his lordship.

I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t someone in jeans and checked open necked shirt and loafers. Then it was his day off as well and he was good to see us, I hated to think what it was going to cost. The judge was quite a tall man in his late forties early fifties. He sat behind his desk and listened intently as Jason explained what had happened with the altercation in the car park followed by the attack in the reserve.

His lordship made notes. Then just as I was beginning to think Jason hadn’t really needed me I was addressed directly. “Dr Watts, or d’you prefer Lady Cameron?”

“I don’t mind, milud.”

“Very well, then as you were in dormousing mode shall we settle for Dr Watts?”

I agreed and he then asked me to show me on a plan of the reserve where things happened. He asked about the bow and arrows and their construction. I admitted I’d shot a bow before, having been a member of an archery club. I also admitted I’d shot someone with a bow in defence of the household and my children. He gave me a very strange look but continued with his questions, and before I knew it his clock was striking twelve—we’d been there an hour.

“It’s clear to me that you manufactured these weapons with the intention of using them but given the level of threat to you and your daughter, I think that intention was justified. Whether you needed to do so if you’d run off with your daughter, is another matter. However, you chose to stay and fight and protect her escape, which I accept in the circumstances.

“I see you have a habit of fighting back,” he said sifting through a file of papers, “However, it appears you are not the aggressor in all of these and you have improvised weapons before, namely in the rescue of a senior police officer. I shall ask you for an undertaking to return in two weeks after your holiday and report to the police to show them you’re back in this country. Failure to do so would be deemed contempt of court and subject to an unlimited fine and or imprisonment.”

We thanked him and after a coffee in a nearby cafe drove home. “You’re going to have to stop this derring-do stuff, the courts are beginning to notice.”

“So the next time someone robs a bank in front of me, I just stand there do I?”

“Might be safer.”

“Nah, they always want me as a hostage.”

“At least you can have your holiday.”

“Once the director’s meeting is over, yes.”

“They that boring?”

“Can be, but the coffee is good.”

“I should hope so too.” He looked at me deadpan then roared with laughter, “Your face, Cathy, was a picture. A very beautiful one.”

“Jason, I’m happily married.”

“I know, Cathy, otherwise I’d have made a play for you years ago, plus of course Simon is a good friend.”

Glad you added that, I thought. So he was sniffing around, be a pity to use someone else because he’s a good lawyer, but much more of this and I’ll have to tell him or Simon. Perhaps I’ll just remind him I’m biologically a boy, it might put him off—though he knows it already—oh poo.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2424 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Two hundred and two dozen or four dozen, depending upon whimsical maths.

“Thank goodness you’re back,” Simon seemed sincere in his observation.

“Why, what’s happened?”

“Nothing, but I’m running short of cash to buy them off.”

“Eh?”

“I got them to do little jobs and promised to pay them.”

“How much?”

“A pound a job.”

“And how much have you spent?”

“Uh, forty ni—no fifty quid.”

“What?” I was flabberwotsitted, “What have you had them do?”

“You know,” clearly I didn’t or I wouldn’t have asked, “tidy their rooms.”

“You got them to do that for a quid each?”

“Not quite, I paid a bit more than that.”

Why am I not surprised? “How much more?”

“Four pounds—so that was a fiver each to do something I told them to do anyway.”

“You didn’t did you?”

“I’d hardly be saying so if I didn’t, would I?”

“No, I s’pose not, no wonder Trish and Livvie were high fiving it.”

“High fivering, I think you mean.”

“Cunning little minxes.”

“Dumb ol’ Daddy, might be more apposite.”

“Yeah, could be.” He actually blushed.

“What else did they con you on?”

“I had them helping David and Jacquie.”

“They like doing that anyway, I certainly don’t pay them.”

“They said you did.”

“They were using terminological inexactitudes,” I offered.

“What?” he said looking bewildered.

“Being economical with the actuality.”

“What—lying? They lied to me?”

“They deceived you, more I suspect as a game than any malicious intent.”

“I can’t believe they lied to me.”

“Excuse me a moment.” I went off in search of the miscreants and found them sharing out their loot. It was like something out of a very second rate B film, but they were so intent on their task they didn’t see me stroll in to their bedroom. They jumped visibly when I shut the door.

“Mummy,” exclaimed Trish, “You’re back.”

“Yes. Now I think you had better explain just what you’re doing.”

They all looked embarrassed. “Um, Daddy gave us some pocket money, I was just sharing it out.”

“You have pocket money every week, so you can give that back to Daddy.”

“But—we earned it,” she protested.

“How did you earn it?”

“We um—tidied the bedroom,” she glanced around the room.

“I asked you to do that yesterday—which is a condition of getting your pocket money, as you well know.”

“We hoovered and dusted,” said Livvie then saw my expression and looked at the floor.

“You do that to help me so I have more time to spend with you.”

“But he offered us money,” protested Trish.

“I don’t care, you get paid pocket money for doing the minimal amount about the house, you are not defrauding your father because he doesn’t understand the system.”

“I hewped Jacquie wiv Wizzie,” declared Meems.

“Were you paid for that?”

She nodded.

“I thought you liked helping with the babies?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“I helped David,” said Livvie in a voice that died away at the end of the sentence.

“Helping David is a treat, you don’t get paid for it, he rewards you by showing you how to do things, and you always get something nice to eat from him as treat.”

“No, sorry, Mummy,” she started to sniff and the tears started. In seconds the lachrymal epidemic had spread to the others and I had the three of them hugging me and begging forgiveness.

“It’s not for me to accept your apologies, you have to apologise to Daddy and give him his money back.

“All of it?” snorted Trish.

“Every penny.”

She sighed and then agreed. I made them wipe their faces and collect up the money then we went and found Simon. He was about to say something when I stopped him. That startled him a little but before he could say anything I leapt in and told him the girls had something to say to him.

“Oh, alright...” he was going to add something probably like, ‘and I have something to say to them,’ but my look silenced him.

“We’re sorry we took your money, Daddy,” Trish started and the other two enjoined. “We love you, Daddy, an’ didn’t mean to make you cross.” They then cried all over him and clung to his waist.

I watched the theatre of three girls completely manipulate Simon who was more embarrassed than they were. Of course he forgave them with a caution not to do it again. They went off red eyed but their apparent penance prevented further sanctions and he got his money back and to play the firm master of his house and all he surveys. All bovine excrement of course, but I left him to polish his ego while I went in search of something to eat—I was famished.

Simon sauntered into the kitchen as I was eating the casserole David had left for me. “I think that went rather well and my rebuke should ensure they never try it again.” I nearly choked on my chicken. How can someone with a master’s in economics or whatever his higher degree is in, not see the evidence before his very eyes. They ran rings round him—no bother. He was out manoeuvred so comprehensively if he’d been a merchant vessel, the three pirates would have taken his ship as well as his cargo while he congratulated himself that he’d negotiated a rowing boat to go home in. He had no idea. Is that just a man thing or simply that he doesn’t interact with them often enough.

“You can be so masterful at times,” I said without adding, ‘but this ain’t one of them.’

“I know, it’s part and parcel of being a man, you know.”

“Of course, dear; could you pop the kettle on, I’m gasping for a cuppa.”

“Jason not buy you one?”

“We had a quick coffee after we left the judge’s chambers.”

“How’d it go?” he asked making the tea.

“We can go on holiday but I have to promise not to shoot any other would be murderers for at least three weeks.”

“Really?”

“No, you great pudding, but I have to tell the police when I’m back.”

“Oh, so that’s not so bad then.”

“Simon, those bastards were firing live rounds at us, we could have died and I’m on bail for stopping them.”

“Word is they could both lose their balls.”

“Good, idiots like that shouldn’t be encouraged to breed.”

“They’re also looking to sue.”

“Let them, Jason can earn his money and I’m going to refuse to pay them a penny. They started it...”

“And you just happened to finish it—like you usually do.”

“Would you prefer I’d let them kill us?”

“Of course not.”

“Well pour the tea before it gets too strong and I’ll advise Jason.”

“He knows.”

“You told him?”

“Not entirely, their solicitor informed him of their intention to sue for damages from your excessive violence.”

This time I did choke. It would possibly have been easier if I’d killed them both—dead men tell no lies.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2425 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“They’re going to sue me?” I gasped.

“That’s about it, yes.”

“But they were trying to kill me.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“So if they were the perpetrators, how come they have even the right to sue me?”

“I don’t know, presumably because they can and some smart-arse lawyer has told them so. They’re bound to know it also upsets you so gives them an opportunity to cause you trouble while they’re banged up.”

“But that is so wrong, Simon.”

“I agree entirely and knowing that you’d be angry took the decision to set Jason on them with instruction to sue them until their breath was all they had and then we’ll do ‘em for air pollution.”

I actually chuckled not so much at his humour but because I was so angry at what he’d told me. It’s absurd that because a victim fights back and gets the better of the situation that the perpetrators can then claim any sort of damages. Surely, if someone is trying to kill me, I have a right to neutralise that threat in any way I can–well okay, killing everyone in their family or that they’ve ever spoken to on face-ache might be a trifle heavy handed unless they dropped litter deliberately; then it would be justified.

“What did Jason say.”

“I suspect he just licked his lips.”

“Have you seen this?” enquired Sammi holdin an iPad.

“Yeah, we’ve all got one, why?”

“They’re accusing you on facebook of bullying them.”

“Who are?”

“The bad guys you tried to kill.”

“Darling, if your mother had tried to kill them, they’d be waiting for cremation right now.”

“Okay, the two who tried to kill her.”

“Isn’t this sub judice?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, but I know a man who’ll know for certain.” Simon went off to call Jason again.

“Doesn’t Jason ever get tired of Daddy and you calling him all the time?”

“Probably, but it pays for his expensive cars and holidays.”

“Hadn’t thought of that. He’s quite cute, isn’t he?” Sammi posited.

“He’s very good looking but perhaps a trifle old for you.”

“I prefer older men, they tend to look after me better.”

“Sammi, you need to speak to your dad about anything with Jason because we do so much business with him, if you’re thinking of anything with him.”

“Just thinking out loud, Mummy dearest, so don’t blow a gasket yet.” She smiled sweetly and went back up to her room.

“Oh she’s gone?” said Si returning to me.

“Yes, why?”

“Jason wanted her to show him the page in question. He’ll have to call her.”

“Is that a good idea?” I said far too firmly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I blushed.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for him as well?”

“No, but she might have.” Damn, I’d betrayed her trust.

“How d’you know that–she say something?”

“No, just a bit of intuition.” I lied and I’m sure he knew it.

“Hmm,” he said narrowing his eyes for a moment. Oh well, what happens, happens. “I suppose she could do worse.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“What else is there to say, she’s her own woman, a bit like you–could be where she gets it.”

This was a wind up but I saw it coming and chose to ignore it which spoilt his fun. Ten minutes later Sammi appeared to say she’d spoken to Jason and he’d asked her out for dinner on Saturday.

“But you’re coming to Menorca with us on Saturday,” I said angrily.

“Relax, Mummy, I’m flying out on Sunday.”

“What?”

“I changed the flight, alright–just for me, going from Luton.”

“Luton?”

“That’s what she said,” confirmed Simon.

“How are you getting there?”

“Jason said he’d get me there, alright?” I simmered wondering where else he was going to ‘get’ her. No it’s a first date–surely she doesn’t give in that easily? “Don’t look so worried, Mummy, he’s only giving me a lift. I’d still have to come and collect her from the airport the other end. Why did we bother adopting teenagers?

“You’re really worried about Sam, aren’t you?” Simon said as we lay quietly together that night.

“I don’t know, he’s quite a bit older than she is and Cate has lived as a girl longer.”

“She’s had one or two relationships.”

“Oh, so you’re implying she’s more experienced than I am, are you?”

“Not at all, but you worry too much.”

“I had two men trying to kill me a few days ago, remember? Being alert is what kept me alive.”

“Well, I’m here now and no one is going to hurt you while I’m around–so just relax.” He began stroking my nipple and I had to admit it was very pleasant. Then he stroked my face and kissed me so sensually. I kissed him back and my...mobile peeped for a text. “Ignore it.”

“Let me just read it.”

“Why?”

“I just want to, all right?”

He wasn’t pleased but I reached my phone from the bedside table and opened the texts. It was from James. ’Call me, urgently, J.’

“What is it?” asked a disgruntled husband who saw the worried look I had.

“It’s James, I asked him to investigate this strange woman who saw me at the university claimed to be a teacher there and also transsexual.”

“The head of the gay lib lot?”

“So she said. I didn’t believe her, looks like I might have been right,” I said as I dialled James’ mobile number. He answered it in two rings.

“You asked me to call you.”

“Yes, I’ve got a make on that woman you asked me to identify.”

“Oh good, who is she?”

“It’s not good.”

My tummy flipped. “Why? Who is she?”

“She’s Justine Boleyn.”

“That means nothing to me I’m afraid.”

“It would, Cathy, if you were looking for a hit woman.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m her next target?”

“I hate to agree with you, but I suspect you’re right. According to a friend in MI5, she often manufactures a meeting with her targets before she kills them.”

“Oh shit.”

“What’s the matter, babes?”

“I’m dead, that’s what.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2426 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“What d’you mean–you’re dead?” Simon looked suitably aghast.

“That woman–she was an assassin–I’m her next target.”

“Why?”

“How do I know?”

“Is that Jim?” he asked and I nodded. He took the phone from my hand as I sat in a daze.

“What’s going on?” he asked loudly and I tuned out the conversation thinking that I was a dead woman walking. I know I dealt with assassins before but sooner or later one is going to get me if whoever keeps sending them continues.

On one level I was glad to learn that my intuition was working in that I recognised she wasn’t what she claimed to be both in terms of being transsexual and a teacher at the university. On another, I was grieved that I didn’t suss that she was dangerous. If she goes anywhere near my children, I’ll kill her with my bare hands if necessary. I’m the target not my family–this is between her and me and while the odds are in her favour because she has surprise on her side, I’m now at least aware of what’s happening. One way or another, it looks like I can kiss my holiday goodbye. I don’t know the area so if I’m going to fight, it’s going to be somewhere I feel I have a chance. I’ll send the children perhaps Tom will take them or persuade Stella to go instead of me, and I’ll stay here and fight it out.

“Cathy, I’m talking to you.”

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

“Jim is sending a couple of his friends to even things out a little.”

“I’m going to send everyone to Menorca, and stay here to fight it out with her.”

“I’m not going to bloody Menorca, I’m staying here with you.”

“No, I want everyone away–this is my fight. If she’s going to kill me, I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

“Very noble but dumb.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m staying here with you–we’re in this together.”

“But the kids could end up orphans if she succeeds.”

“With Jim’s help, she won’t.”

“What if she just waits until we relax–we don’t know her time scale, do we?”

“I’ll employ Jim and his pals for as long as it takes.”

“That could be months.”

“So? I don’t care if it takes a hundred years. I want this bitch dead. I don’t care how much it costs–I consider without you life would be empty.”

“What about the children?”

“We’ll keep them out of it until we know it’s safe.”

“How will we know that?”

“When one of Jim’s pals get her or I happen to meet her.”

“Simon, she’s a professional killer–you’d have no chance.”

“Actually, I will. Jim has borrowed a couple of L85A2 for us to use.”

“What are those when they’re at home?”

“The guns the army use.”

“I thought they were supposed to be rubbish.”

“Before Heckler and Koch modified them, they were, now they’re some of the best assault rifles in the world, according to Jim they’re better than the American ones.”

“They’re illegal, we don’t have permits for them and if someone gets shot with them we could end up in prison for a very long time. I’ve heard stories that women’s prisons are worse than men’s. It might be easier just to let her kill me.”

“Cathy, we can’t, I won’t let her.” He pulled me into a hug and I burst into tears in his arms–it wasn’t so much about dying that worried me–it was not finishing the job of raising the children to be independent, not being with them or Simon and Tom anymore; not to mention how painful dying might actually be. A bullet between my eyes didn’t worry me, that would be quick and painless but other things might not. Why do these things happen to me? What had I done this time?

We lay in bed together and Simon eventually fell asleep, I couldn’t however and ended up down in the kitchen drinking tea. Bramble had convinced me to give her some milk a few minutes before and after drinking it rubbed herself against my legs but then suddenly dashed out of the kitchen. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

“The kettle has just boiled,” I said.

“How kind. You know why I’m here?”

“Yes.”

“Your little gofer worked things out for you, then?”

“I know why you’re here, please don’t hurt anyone else.”

“Kind and considerate to the end, but you don’t know if it’s just you or everyone is on my list.”

“No I don’t.”

“And as you’ll be dead, it will hardly matter will it?”

“Yes.”

“What if you’re already dead?”

“I love my children and would do anything to protect them.”

“Anything? That’s a bit of an open cheque isn’t it?”

“Have you any children, Justine?”

“Trying to appeal to my better nature is a waste of time.”

“Is it, so why haven’t you just killed me and left?”

“Because I was told to make sure you knew why you died.”

“Will it matter, after all I’ll be dead so unable to worry about it?”

“You’re inconsistent, Catherine, one minute you’re telling me it matters that I don’t hurt your family after I kill you, then you say it doesn’t matter why you died.”

“Don’t tell me, you’re going to bore me to death?”

“Oh very good, Professor. Being a professor does that mean they stick a cap and gown on your coffin?”

“Hey, that’s a good idea, can I leave a note for Simon?”

“Not much use if I kill him as well, is it?”

“We’re back to that, are we?”

“For someone who’s about to die, you certainly have balls–sorry, you don’t any longer, do you? I heard about your squabble in the woods–quick thinking, make a bow and arrows–sadly, you won’t have time to that with me. In some ways I’m sorry we don’t get to fight things out, hunting you and then killing you would be good fun.”

“So why don’t you do it then?”

“My instructions were to kill you and provide evidence of completion of the contract.”

“So why can’t we do that outside in the woods or wherever you fancy?”

“Time, my dear Catherine, I’m quite a busy girl–and yes, you were quite right I’m a real female unlike you, although having said that, you are a credit to the transsexual community and I did enjoy your little film on dormice.”

“You just go round killing people?”

“I’m not here to answer questions.”

“No of course not, you might just reveal that you’re scared of me.”

“Be careful what you say, Catherine, I might make this more painful than it needs to be.”

“I reckon, Justine, that you’re frightened to face me in a fair fight, because I might just win.”

“You continue to delude yourself, Catherine, if you think that. I could kill you with my bare hands, or with many different weapons.”

“How d’you know I can’t do the same?”

“I don’t, but like I said I’m a busy girl so let’s get it over with, shall we?”

“D’you mind if I say a few prayers first?” I was playing for time, though it looked as if it was still running out too quickly.

“I thought you were agnostic?”

“Keeping my options open, you never know, do you?”

“I rather like your attitude, Catherine, pity I have to kill you.”

“You don’t, I could pay you more than your initial contract, if you cancelled it.”

“I’m a woman of my word and in my business, integrity is everything.”

I snorted.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are.”

“Glad you think so, you’ll die laughing.”

“Integrity in a psychopath, it is funny, isn’t it?”

“Say your prayer and make it quick.”

I prepared to leave this world.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2427 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I prayed to the goddess, apologising for failing yet again and asked that she protect my family. Just then Bramble’s ping-pong ball came rattling into the kitchen, followed by the crazy kitten herself. I heard the ‘phut’ of a silencer bullet, and thinking she’d shot the cat, angrily somersaulted backwards to where she’d sounded as if she was standing.

There was no one there and Bramble was cowering under a kitchen chair. I checked her carefully, she seemed okay then I spotted blood on the wall and drips of it up the stairs. As I stood up a large man in dark clothing and wearing a ski mask burst in through what I’d thought was a locked door.

“You all right?” he hissed at me, resplendent in my Minnie the Minx pyjamas. I nodded. He spotted the blood. “Good, I hit her.”

“Where’s Jim?”

“On his way.”

“There are children asleep upstairs,” I gasped realising where she’d gone.

“Okay.” He began to creep up the stairs and I felt quite sick. I couldn’t watch, what if she took a hostage? If any of the children or Simon were hurt or killed, I’d never forgive myself.

I suddenly remembered the window in our en suite was open and I dashed outside and ran into another dark clad man, who grabbed me and placing his hand over my mouth, hissed, “Is everything all right?”

“No,” she’s hurt and gone upstairs.”

“Is there another way up there?”

“Only my en suite, that window is open.”

“Show me.”

“You won’t get through it.”

“Don’t bet on anything, darlin’, I’ve squeezed through some very tight spaces.” He was carrying a handgun with silencer on it.

“Are you Jim’s friends?”

“Only if he pays us this time.”

“You’ll get your money, just save my children.”

“Your children are quite safe, you were the target—the contract is being paid by someone Cortez.”

“I had hoped he was dead.”

“He was talking to her an hour ago.”

I felt myself shiver. I pointed out the bathroom window. He nodded and set off towards it. A police car flashed into the drive, all the lights turned off. It was followed by two others. In moments the drive seemed awash with people in dark clothing carrying guns.

Some tall man obviously the man in charge asked me what the state of play was. I explained it as best I could. He seemed to know about the two gunmen who were hunting the woman.

“Who are they?” I asked quietly, pulling the police coat tighter to me.

“Special forces.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you lot were supposed to be in charge in these cases?”

“We’ve been told to support only, unless things go horribly wrong.”

“My children are in there.”

“I’m well aware of that, Lady Cameron, but if you or anyone else were to go in there now, it would increase the risk of an innocent being shot enormously. If they stay asleep, they should be okay.”

“What if she uses them as hostages?”

“If the intel is correct, she won’t do that. One of her first victims was some bloke who molested her when she was a kid.” I began to wonder if I should pity her rather than despise her. I felt the energy rising in me. She’d been hit in the shoulder and part of me wanted to help her.

While the superintendent or whatever rank he was positioned his men, I stole into the house. I drew down the energy to protect myself from all three of the people in the house who were carrying guns. I wasn’t sure it would work but I had no other options.

Creeping up the stairs I headed towards Julie’s bedroom, because that was where Justine was. I threw open the door sending a pulse of blue light ahead of me. Nothing happened. I glanced around and saw something slumped in the corner. Justine was struggling to breathe but she saw me approach.

“Come to gloat?”

“No, to help.”

“Why? I was going to kill you.”

“Because you need my help.”

“It’s too late,” she said and winced.

“There’s something else you didn’t know about me...” I touched her shoulder and she gasped and passed out. She’d lost quite a lot of blood, I was trying to staunch the bleeding and close the hole. Perhaps it was just as well she’d zonked, the smell was awful.

The bullet had gone straight through her shoulder smashing the end of her collar bone and clipping the sub clavian artery, hence all the blood. I released the gun from her twitching fingers, and slid it out of reach. Then I woke Julie who nearly screamed, but for my hand over her mouth.

I explained what happened and that I needed something to use as a dressing. A couple of sanitary towels and a bit of bandage did the job, then we switched on the light and waited for the two hunters to arrive. I pointed out the injured woman and the bloody gun. One picked up our casualty the other the gun. Julie and I followed them downstairs where the police cordon was stood down and an ambulance called.

We made tea for about a dozen people while we waited for the paramedics. Justine came to and despite her pain she asked to speak with me. One of the special forces men stood by with his gun aimed at her the whole time.

“Why didn’t you let me die?”

“That would have been unkind of me. You needed help.”

“I would have killed you, you know?”

“I doubt it, you were struggling with your conscience the whole time.”

“How d’you know?”

“I could see inside your head—though I thought you had shot the cat for a moment.”

“I’m a professional not a sadist.”

“So why did you not shoot while you had the chance.”

“You couldn’t see her could you?”

“See who?”

“Whoever it was you were praying to, she stood in front of you and told me to leave you in peace as you were one of her angels. Then, he shot me,” she looked up at the man in black ski mask and outfit towering over both of us.

“You’re in shock, you’ve lost quite a bit of blood.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, send the bill to Cortez and tell him I’m cancelling the contract.”

“Cortez—nasty piece of scum.”

“You got that right. Still when I tell him you were protected by angels—no one in their right mind is going to want to try it.”

“No one will believe you.”

“They had better. That was a clever trick with the blue light—hey, there it is again, hey, I can see another angel...” with that she collapsed and died. Julie was visibly upset and I took her off to one side.

“How did that happen, you were healing her?”

“I think she realised that she’d be under such pressure when she was recovered, they’d want to pin every unsolved murder on her for the past decade. Her life would probably have ended in prison and she didn’t want that.”

“She was a professional killer, Mummy.”

“I know, it was that which in the end did for her, that and that idiot cat.”

“Bramble, what did she do?”

“That would be telling. I think we’d better get one of those industrial carpet cleaners in tomorrow, don’t you?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2428 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

To say everyone was a bit jaded the next morning was an understatement. I actually fell asleep giving a statement—different, I know. Lizzie was also trying to suck my lungs out and I nearly dropped her as well. I felt so tired. The others, except Julie and Bramble had been woken up by the police walking all over the place taking photographs. Julie’s bedroom carpet was ruined and instead of cleaning it, we got someone in to remove it and the underlay and measure up for a new one. Meanwhile she’d have to use a couple of rugs I had up in the attic.

I did have the hall, stair and landing carpets cleaned which was nearly as expensive as replacing them, but they did do a good job at short notice. The council have a list of names of specialist firms who do the clean up after accidents, murders and suicides. The police gave it to us and they came out two hours later but required payment up front. Thankfully, they accepted a cheque when they realised who we were.

The police had rescinded the bail conditions when they saw that trouble did seem to follow me around. The statements were short and sweet and my efforts to save my would be assassin were looked upon as an act of selflessness. Post mortem showed she had died from a combination of blood loss and myocardial infarct—an embolism bunged up her coronary artery.

James had a fix on Cortez from the phone call but by the time he got there, the usurer had disappeared. I decided that although I might still be a target I was going to Menorca if it killed me. We commenced packing and got ready for a flight the next morning from Southampton. It was a crack of dawn job and we had a minibus taxi pick us up at five in the morning. We were at the airport at half past and an hour or so later were boarding a charter flight to Mahon or Mao as the locals call it.

We arrived at ten o’clock local time and used a taxi to take us the few miles to the villa where our caretaker was waiting. It cost me fifty euros for the ride but it was worth it to find ourselves at the drive way of a beautiful looking house with terra cotta tiled roof, roses, bougainvillea, hibiscus, orange trees and a lemon tree greeted us with a display of colour and scents that almost threatened to overwhelm the senses.

Crickets chirped and birds flew in and out of the bushes as we tried to take in the sight in front of us. White washed walls were only occasionally visible behind the sprawl of climbers, and even a wisteria and passionflower got in on the picture that we all held for a few moments before walking down the drive and knocking on the door—a modern glass and PVC double glazed variety with an insect mesh over it.

The door was opened almost immediately by a woman in her fifties whose sunbathing had turned her skin to a burnished bronze colour. Despite her dyed black hair and dark skin, she was as Scottish as Edinburgh rock and kept the house spotless and the laundry clean enough to eat off. In the garage was a Peugeot and beside that a cardboard box which contained an Orbea bike and a workshop stand with a limited range of tools. I was going to have to set up the bike but being away for a few days was going to feel good.

I’d opted out of the director’s meeting, Simon conveyed my apologies and explained that I’d been the target of a ruthless assassin but had somehow turned the tables on them. He reported me as exhausted and offered to read my report which the meeting accepted and when he showed the pictures of the reserve and the progress with the building, then related Danni’s and my ordeal at the hands of the hunters and the outcome of two very incapacitated hunters, the board stood up and applauded.

Henry hadn’t heard of both incidents and when he did he offered to buy me a Wonder Woman outfit, brought a further cheer from the board. However, when he texted me telling me his ‘plan’ and that the board thought I should wear it to the next meeting, I texted him back, ‘I will if you will, C x.’ Simon apparently thought it was a good idea, but Henry didn’t; can’t think why.

Within an hour of being at the villa the girls were in bikinis and in the pool. I told them that they had to stay up the shallow end to play and that there was to be no messing around or I’d have it closed and drained. One of the bigger girls had to make sure everyone got out safely and no one was to use it on their own. If I caught anyone doing so, they’d be banned from the pool for the rest of the holiday.

Once they’d stopped their initial enthusiasm, I changed and swam to and fro for half an hour which given I’m such a lousy swimmer felt like quite a workout. I hauled myself out and after showering went inside and changed into my shorts and tee shirt and went to assemble my new bike.

Of course they all wanted one, but there was no way I was going to buy another set of children’s bikes and have to replace them as they grew, so I agreed we would hire some. The same shop which had delivered mine agreed to deliver and collect an assortment of bikes which I was renting for the price of buying one of them.

The early summer in the UK had produced a good show of flowers and fruits which were now going over. On Menorca, the flowers were still amazing and I watched a lizard, some sort of gecko lounging on the wall of the house in between two hibiscus plants. He disappeared as soon as I produced a camera.

I got directions from Mrs Winner, our caretaker, for the local supermarket and three of us set off in the car to get some food for the next few days. The car was a left hand drive and took a mile or two to get used to, and my first roundabout was an adventure, then I relaxed into it—so much so, I nearly went on the wrong side of the road approaching the Lidl store, which seem ubiquitous in Europe these days.

I spent over a hundred euros just getting the basics of bread and milk, vegetables and meat, some fish and some fruit. It filled the boot of the car and I had to drive back to the villa quickly to stop the ice cream melting in the heat.

The nearest town is Es Grau and that’s around the bay. Somehow, Henry had bought the place which is on the edge of the large nature reserve and lagoon. I spotted red kite and Egyptian vultures, and that was without binoculars. If I had the same result with mammals, it looked as if this could be a good holiday.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2429 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Just outside the villa was a grass verge and beyond that bushes and trees, including the occasional olive, some sort of aloe, juniper and bramble. There were pine trees and some eucalyptus. Not being very familiar with the flora and fauna, I was hoping I’d see as much as possible and in some cases might need photos to sort things out afterwards. All I had to do was encourage the rest of them to want to go nature watching all day, every day for the next three weeks—right.

Trish and Livvie were helping me unload the car when Mima came dashing up, “We’s seen a towtoise.”

“Where?” squealed Trish and before I knew it my two helpers had disappeared into some bushes.

“Don’t wander off,” I called after them.

“Can we keep it, Mummy.”

“No, it’s a wild animal.”

“Doesn’t seem very wild to me,” was called back as I continued to unload the car by myself. It took perhaps ten minutes to put all the food away, including the ice cream which they seemed to have forgotten about for the moment, so it might last long enough to have as a pudding after dinner. I wasn’t cooking for lunch, it was too warm, so they’d have to make do with a sandwich. I’d bought bread, two loaves, we’d just have to buy it every day as there wasn’t a bread machine and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get suitable flour and yeast. We’d have to see how we got on with buying it.

I asked Danni to call the girls in while I made ham salad sandwiches with the sliced wholemeal bread. They took a few minutes to appear and brought the poor tortoise with them. I sent them to put it back where they found it and then to wash their hands.

Drinking water is a bit of a problem in much of the Mediterranean and that includes Menorca, so some of the boot space had been taken up by large five litre bottles of drinking water. I preferred to pay for the H2O than risk tummy bugs, so apart from the large bottles, I bought a ten pack of five hundred ml bottles, so everyone had their own to which they affixed their own labels. They did that while Jacquie and I cleared up the lunch mess.

The villa had ceramic tiles throughout, and as we’d eaten in the dining room, I quickly swept it while Jacquie shoved the crocks into the dish washer. It was now very warm and the girls were heading back to the pool. I left Jacquie to supervise them, which meant she got a swim and some sun bathing time, while I set up my laptop and printed off lists of mammals and reptiles, birds and insects, and found my field guides to birds and wild flowers; checked my camera and binoculars, and put my telescope on to its tripod. I also checked the batteries in the image intensifier.

A few hundred yards away was the start of woodland, which I’d need to explore in daylight to get a feel for it, I might then be able to walk it at night in relative safety. Why would I be doing that? The mammals I’d like to see are more active at night, and there were some owls I’d never seen either—so this was a major opportunity for some nature watching.

When I saw pine marten amongst the list of mammals, I nearly swooned. I’ve only ever seen them on film or as skins in academic collections. To see one of those would be a major event. Then, the local dormouse Eliomys quercinus gymnesicus, is pretty rare, though it’s very different to the hazel dormouse of northern Europe, including being much larger. Even the tiggywinkles are different, it’s the North African hedgehog they have here, which is smaller and paler faced with no spines on its crown and also bigger ears.

Already I had so many goals to aim for, I could really have done with employing a full time child minder and gone off on my own—but being a mother doesn’t work like that, or not in my book it doesn’t.

I fed and played with Lizzie for half an hour and I wasn’t sure who needed the rest afterwards, her or me, we both seemed tired. Then I prepared a casserole and shoved it in the oven—I was going to miss my Aga and its slow oven.

It was cooler when I set off for a walk just to get the lie of the land, with Lizzie snoozing in a papoose carrier, and me carrying my camera, binoculars and water bottle on attachments around my belt. I also had a compass, pen and paper together with my mobile and a torch, sunglasses and hat. Lizzie had her own hat plus a sun shade which fitted to the harness of her carrier. She’s not that big but after a relatively short time she can feel quite heavy.

Just escaping from the squealing and shrieking of half a dozen girls was bliss in itself. It gave me a moment to clear my head and enjoy the moment. Sparrows darted here and there—Spanish ones of course, they look similar to our tree sparrows. Swallows and martins swished about the skies and in the distance I saw a Bonelli’s eagle. This was just wonderful. If ever Simon and split up, I must get this place in the settlement and he can keep his draughty old castle.

To my astonishment, right there in front of me a female mantis was chewing the head of its mate—and Simon thinks he has troubles—which was fascinating and obscene at the same time. I took about a dozen photos before moving on. A stork of some sort flew over like some avian jumbo jet and I just gasped, this place was like a treasure chest of natural wonders. I was almost in overload.

My phone peeped. I checked it and found it was showing which local provider I’d be with while on the island. That was it, so I continued walking while Lizzie alternated between chortling in my ear or snoozing.

In the distance across a field I spotted a bird I’d never seen before—it couldn’t be, could it? I tried to get closer but it flew off behind some trees. Was it a woodchat shrike? I sincerely hoped so, but couldn’t be sure.

Some familiar butterflies, then something which resembled a large pink and black one—a hoopoe—a strange bird which regularly ends up in the southern counties of England during the summer, and which resembles a woodpecker in flight with its undulating path. It has an erectile crest but I couldn’t see that from my viewpoint.

I’d been out about three quarters of an hour so thought I’d better get home and finish the dinner. I took a quick drink from my bottle and handed Lizzie her little bottle. She spat it out, not wanting pure water but all these fruit juice drinks are so acidic and full of sugar it damages their teeth. I picked up her fallen battle and spotted a tortoise scuttling into the undergrowth, it soon disappeared. Damn, I was later than I intended, but as I walked back I made notes of all the things I’d seen. I was on holiday and loving it.

>

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2430 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I returned and showered, got the bits of twig and stuff out of my hair—okay, someone’s dog was tangled up in some netting and going crazy. I could hardly leave it, could I? At the same time as I approached it, it snarled and barked at me waking Lizzie, who then began to wail—in my ear. It was like being jammed in front of a siren, not a pleasant place to be.

Taking Lizzie off me, I hung the papoose from a nearby tree and hoped that the dog wouldn’t kill me when I began to free him—assuming I could. I also hoped I placed Lizzie beyond the canine’s reach.

If you throw positive energy at something frightened or angry, it’s supposed to quieten them down, calming them. That was what Katy did next, only it didn’t seem to be helping, the dog was still yelping, barking and snarling at me enmeshing itself in the netting even more as it struggled—like some giant spider’s web.

The netting was a combination of wire and nylon and I could see the blood where the animal had struggled and torn itself against the wires. No wonder it was angry and frightened, I’d have been just the same and as a human I supposed to be capable of rational thought—that is using human rationale—greed, self interest, selfishness and so on. Okay, I know I’m preaching to the converted, we’re the good guys on the white charger, gaming armour and so forth—look I’m just playing for time, to think how to release this poor creature.

Swiss army knife—Biggles had his chewing gum and elastic band, Dr Who his sonic screwdriver—I have my SAK. Um—well I thought I did, except I didn’t. I checked my pockets—it wasn’t there. Oh poo and double poo. I took my belt off and took off the camera pouch, and my water bottle, my binoculars and another pouch. My multitool. Perhaps there is a cod after all, ’cos this dog is beginning to look as if it’s had its chips. It had succumbed to exhaustion or asphyxiation. It was panting like mad then it suddenly stopped.

Using the pliers I started cutting wires. There had to be one near its neck, but I couldn’t find it for the animal’s thick fur. I probed the throat of the lifeless beast with fingers that seemed unable to locate the means by which the creature had effectively garrotted itself. I found something thin and tough—it wasn’t wire, it was nylon cord and I couldn’t get my fingers under it so my knife blade wouldn’t go either. Oh poo, what now—if I didn’t get it off in the next minute or so, the dog would be dead or so brain damaged it might as well be dead—assuming I could start it breathing again.

With my eyes shut, I felt for the cord moving away from the throat—it was so damned tight it was like trying to trace wires in a wall. I found a looser part and slipped the knife under, pulled and the thing got tighter. It took a couple of goes to cut it. Nothing happened. Back to the throat, I discovered a second cord and tried to trace that. I cursed my fingers for being so useless. Why couldn’t they feel this thing, then I felt wet stuff, it was blood, the cord had cut into the skin of the dog I was going to have to do the same—it was taking too long to do it the kind way.

Hoping that nothing vital like blood vessels or nerves were in the way, I began picking at the nylon—it seemed to be taking hours, suddenly there was a release of tension and something parted and my knife slipped deeper. I pulled it back immediately—there seemed more blood about now. Oh well, like CPR, if you don’t do it your patient is dead already. The cord stripped away and I could feel a wound right round the dog’s neck where the string had cut into it. Now it was free except the animal wasn’t breathing. I cut some more cord and wires and placing the dog on its back, held its mouth shut and blew down its snout twice. Then hoping its heart was somewhere near where I was pushing, I began compressions.

Probably the blue light I was pouring into the poor animal helped, but you know me, belt and bracers kind of girl, so I zapped it with everything. In all the excitement I forgot about Lizzie and when I looked up at her she was laughing—something was amusing her. Small bubbles of blue energy were floating from the unconscious dog to her and she was trying to catch them. Back to my veterinary patient. I gave it a dozen more compressions sat back exhausted and one of its hindlegs kicked back and knocked me over. Scrambling back I could see it was now panting again—so something had worked.

A swig of water helped me recover a little so I dripped a little on the dog’s tongue. It swallowed, so some reflexes were working but I wasn’t going to look at its pupil response given the eyes are relatively close to two rows of large, sharp teeth. Even if it didn’t want to bite me, it might do so by reflex.

Talking to it seemed to calm it down, even though I was speaking a language it probably didn’t understand. I stood and the dog watched me as I walked round it. Another pull on my bottle cleared my mouth and throat. Then I remembered I just been kissing a dog’s snout and I was promptly sick, which required more water to clear the taste—I know, TMI.

I helped the unfortunate canine sit up, so it could breathe more easily. As I collected up my stuff and clipped it back on my belt, the dog struggled to stand and finally it staggered away without a word of thanks. Oh well that’s dogs for you...like some people I know. I finished the rest of my water washing canine gore off my hands though my clothing was quite marked.

By the time I’d replaced Lizzie on my back the dog was nowhere to be seen, I hoped it was able to find its way home. It would need some TLC for the next few days. Lizzie grumbled as I bent down to collect up all the rubbish that constrained the dog, I’d take it back with me and chuck it in the bin.

I’d finished my shower, dressed and was doing the vegetables for the casserole before I was discovered by the children who seemed pleased to see me. They’d had great fun playing in and around the pool and told me all about it as I made the dinner. Thus ended the first day of our holiday.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2431 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Will you shut the door?” I barked at whichever of my errant offspring had left it open. “It lets the mozzies in.” That wasn’t strictly true, we had insect mesh over the doors and windows, plus shutters to keep the sun off—overkill, perhaps, but then I didn’t buy or fit out this house, we just ‘inherited’ it sort of as gift from Henry. Simon might have difficulty getting me back to England, it was so lovely here—except they don’t have hazel dormice. Nah, I’d miss them so much I’d have to go back eventually, in a couple of years.

I was still blown away from my walk that afternoon, and checking my list against a list I found on the internet, that I didn’t notice who left the door open again. Bloody kids. Someone had secured the insect door open and forgotten to close the proper door. I heard giggling from the pool area and three of them were playing in the water again.

I spotted the gecko—apparently, a Turkish one—I couldn’t argue because it would hardly show me its passport, would it now, but the little bugger shot off as soon as I turned up with a camera. Bloody lizards.

I went out to the pool and told them they could have half an hour, it was already nearly dark, although still warm. They’d messed about in the water most of the day, I hoped they weren’t too burnt as it had been quite warm—the weather, not the pool.

Si phoned and I went to take it on the landline. I probably bored him silly with my list of birds and other things, after all he’s been here several times, though he’s not a bird watcher, unless he’s shooting them. That’s not allowed here, and Menorca is registered with the UN as a biosphere for its variety of habitat and wildlife. It’s just an amazing place.

“So I take it, you like the place?”

“Like it, I love it. If ever we split up you can keep your draughty old castle, I’ll have this place as part of my settlement.”

“Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

“No, silly, I’m just staking my claim.”

“You can’t see rutting red deer from it can you?”

“No, course not.”

“You can from the castle.”

“Ha ha, you might if it stops raining.”

“There is that, what’s the weather like there?”

“Warm and sunny; over there?”

“It’s not cold but there is a breeze and it has stopped raining about ten minutes ago—no, I tell a lie, it’s a sort of misty drizzle.”

“Mummy, come quickly.” Trish rushed back out of the house with me in hot pursuit and a cold feeling in my tummy. I was half expecting one of them to be lying at the bottom of the pool.

“What?” I gasped.

“Up there in that tree, it’s a owl,” she pointed up at the tree where the unmistakable outline of a little owl showed against the sky.

“Clever girl, it’s a little owl.”

“A baby?”

“No, it’s called a little owl because it’s quite small.”

“Will it grow any bigger?”

“No, sweetheart.”

“Is that the smallest owl?”

“No, they also have a Scop’s owl which is slightly smaller.”

“Do we get any of the pop’s owl?”

I wonder if she’s deaf because she seems to miss half of what I say to her and I can’t work out if she’s deaf or bored. “Not pop’s, it’s Scop’s owl, and we don’t get them, but we do have little owls, they were introduced back in the nineteenth century and have spread over much of England and Wales.”

I left them to their playing by the pool and went back to my call. “Is everything all right?” asked a near frantic Simon. “You were gone so long.”

“Sorry, they’re fine, they wanted me to see a little owl which had perched on a tree in the garden.”

“Phew, that had me worried for a few moments.”

“You worry too much.”

“Someone was trying to kill you a few days ago.”

“Oh that’s old hat nowadays, assassins are so passé.”

“So you’re enjoying yourself?”

“It’s bliss, all I have to do is convince the girls they want to walk all day long to explore the place.”

“Good luck with that, getting a lifeguard for the pool might be easier.”

“You’re probably right.” He’d given me food for thought. If I got someone in to watch them, like Mrs Winner or her hubby, I could take those who did want to walk and we could all have fun. I’d have to ask them—the Winners and the girls.

I went back to my lists and my camera and the photos I’d loaded on the computer. Most had come out quite well, even the ones of the dog.

“Wotcha doin’, Mummy?”

“I’m loading and labelling my photos.”

“Ugh, is that one eating the other’s head?”

“Yes, they’re praying mantis, and she’s preying on him while they mate.”

“He’s letting her chew his head off while they screw?”

“I don’t like your expression, Danielle, but that’s about the long and short of it.”

“Ewch, I think I’m glad I’m a girl not one of those preying whatevers.”

“Mantis, eating him while they mate makes him more effective and nourishes her to lay her eggs, so while he won’t live to see it, his genes have been passed on.”

“Bit hard on him, isn’t it?”

“It certainly means he won’t two-time her if that’s what you mean?”

“A bit extreme if you ask me, was he dying to do it or something?”

“I suspect he must have been.”

“What’s that?” She pointed at the photos I’d taken of the dog.

“Oh, that was some mutt I managed to help free from some netting and wire.”

“It’s bleeding, isn’t it?”

“It was.”

“Was it all right, in the end, I mean?”

“As far as I know it was. I had to cut it free.”

“It looks frightened.”

“It was that, all right. Ended up nearly choking itself to death.”

“Poor dog. Wouldn’t he have chewed his way to freedom?”

“Come off it, Danni, he was trussed up like a turkey in a straight-jacket.”

Danni thought my suggestion of a turkey was best left unstated as she’d never seen a turkey or a straight jacket.

I tried to describe the scene as I anticipated it but she was having difficulty visualising it, and I suspect she was in her element otherwise. She doesn’t like thrillers generally, preferring happy endings. Sadly, life doesn’t always follow such preferences.

As we were talking there was a shriek followed by the crashing of dropped crockery. Danni and I rushed to the kitchen to see Jacquie was near hysteria, and the floor was littered with bits of china.

“What happened?”

“It’s in there.”

“What is? In here?” I indicated a cupboard and she nodded.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, a rat or something.”

“Okay, leave the door wide open please and keep out of the way.” Amazingly, they all stepped aside except Trish who had her camera in her hand.

I threw open the cupboard door and Trish’s camera flashed. Blinking back at me was a dormouse.”

(Photo of Garden Dormouse, courtesy of Wikipedia)

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2432 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Well you did want to see one, Mummy,” commented our resident genius even though it was stating the bleeding obvious.

“How do we get it out of the kitchen, Mummy?” asked Jacquie, “You’re the expert on dormice.”

“That’s hazel dormice which are small and cuddly, I have a feeling this one will take a bite out of the hand which feeds it.”

“They bite?” shrieked Jacquie.

“Do grow up,” said Trish, a sentiment I agreed with but was unable to say.

“It wasn’t you it frightened to death.”

“How can something that size frighten you?”

“It surprised me, that’s how.”

“Oh so it ran up behind you and said, ‘Boo,’ did it?”

“Less of the sarcasm, Trish. I’m nervous of it and it didn’t surprise me.” Then I had an idea. “Get my butterfly net.” She ran off to the car.

I shut the cupboard hoping it would sit still in the dark. Then I went out to the garden shed which was unlocked and found a pair of gardening gloves which were far too big for me but would serve the purpose. Trish followed me into the kitchen.

“I’m going to try and catch it with the gloves, if it gets past me, scoop it up in the net, okay?”

“I’ll try, Mummy.”

“Everyone else keep back.”

I opened the cupboard door and grabbed the thing round the scruff before it could move. It wriggled a bit. “Someone get a bag.”

“What sort of bag?” asked Jacquie.

“Just a plain plastic one.”

The next trick was to put it in the bag and close it before it jumped out. It was accomplished with lots of sighs and big breaths. My heart was beating like I was racing.

I weighed the animal on the kitchen scales, I am a scientist you know. It was about 100g and I would estimate it to be about 18cm long including the tail. I took it out to the garden and released it on the grass verge by the side of the house. It shot off and scrambled up one of the nearby trees. When I went back the others were cleaning up the broken china and jars and wrapping it in some newspaper before placing it in another plastic bag.

Apparently, in Menorca, the rubbish is taken to large bins which they have on most streets or shopping centres. Tomorrow I’d find our nearest one, Mrs Winner had emptied the swing top bin in the kitchen so there was plenty of room for most of the sort of stuff we’d generate tonight.

“That was exciting, wasn’t it, Mummy?” I think the question was rhetorical but answered it anyway. I agreed with her, it had been exciting, the fear of being bitten making it quite exciting.

“How did that thing compare to our dormice, Mummy?”

“It was about twice the length and five times the weight.” The bag we’d used had only weighed about ten grams, so compared to the local dormice at home, this was a whopper, and as they occasionally eat each other, might the twain never meet, to adapt the Kipling quotation about east and west.

“Do they eat nuts as well?” asked Livvie.

“As well as what?” asked Trish.

“As well as our dormice.”

“They wouldn’t eat our dormice, would they?” Trish seemed shocked. “Dormice eat nuts and things, don’t they?”

“Successful creatures are adaptable, and that includes adapting to eat what’s available.”

“That means it eats Spike?” Trish was shocked.

“Not quite, it might well eat hazel dormice where the ranges overlap, but not in the UK or here in Spain.”

“We in Spain, then?” asked Meems and received several cutting remarks in return.

“This is part of Spain, although the British did rule it for a while, long enough to build two roads and set Mao or Mahon up as the capital. It used to be Cuitadella. This type of dormouse, the garden dormouse as they call it, occurs in much of Europe but not in Britain, and the hazel dormouse occurs over much of Europe but not Spain and Portugal. Garden dormice are much more omnivorous than hazel dormice and will be cannibalistic if the opportunity arises.”

“They eat cannon balls?” joked Danni.

“Each other, stoopid,” corrected Trish.

We put all the stuff away we’d used, including the gardening gloves. I checked for what we’d need to replace amongst the crocks and it wasn’t much, perhaps a couple of mugs if necessary. I sent Si a text to bring a few with him to replace breakages. He replied with something like, ‘Can tell you’re there.’ I nearly replied to say I didn’t break them, Eliomys did, but couldn’t be bothered.

“Was that a dawmouse?” asked Mima looking at Trish’s photo, “don’t wook wike Spike.”

“Doh!” Trish slapped her forehead, “It’s different type of dormouse, dum-dum.”

“I’m not a dum-dum, you’s a dum-dum.”

I think Mima needed to go to bed. Thankfully, Mrs Winner had made up enough beds, so the three younger girls plus Cate, shared one room. Danni had her own, and Lizzie slept in a cot in my room. There was a small study which I thought could double as Lizzie’s bedroom as long as I didn’t want to use it during the evenings. Pro tem this would do and I’d move the cot there tomorrow.

When Simon came next week with Phoebe, she’d have to share with Danni or Jacquie, neither were too worried about it, but I’d leave the choice to Phoebe. Julie wasn’t coming but Sammi had been going to, however, she changed her mind after some super-hacker nearly got through the bank’s defences. She was sure he’d try again so wanted to be there to stop him. I felt she was missing out on a little piece of paradise, but she could always come by herself or with Julie some time.

It wasn’t late when I got to bed myself, and although it was a strange bed I went off to sleep quite quickly dreaming about dormice and bicycles—the Orbea I’d ordered needed setting up, and the ones we were borrowing should arrive tomorrow. I’m sure in one dream I had dormice riding bicycles up trees—might have been induced by my own cooking or the events of the evening, either way it was weird.

Waking early, I made a cuppa and went to the garage where I started putting the bike together, running the cables to the brakes and gears would take the longest, getting the handle bars and wheels on was easy. It was nine o’clock when I finished and it looked quite a smart piece of kit. I couldn’t wait to give it a test ride.

“Oh there you are, we were giving you a lie in,” accused Trish.

“I’ve been making the bike up.”

“Can I see,” asked Danni and went off to view my handiwork. The others eventually followed.

“Have you fed Lizzie?” I asked Jacquie.

“I gave her what was in the bottle, she might need a top up.”

I picked up the youngster and Cate came and gave me a huge hug, squealing as she did so which frightened Lizzie, who promptly burst into tears. The start of another day in paradise...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2433 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“When can we see the Taliban?” asked Trish.

“Never I hope.”

“But you said we could.”

“I said, talayots not Taliban. The first lot are prehistoric stone towers the second lot are a bunch of Arab terrorists.”

“Terrorists, no thanks,” offered Danni, “When are the bikes coming?”

“This morning according to Mr Rodrigues.”

“It’s ten o’clock now, where are they?”

“I told you, he said they’d deliver this morning.”

“I hope you haven’t paid him yet, he’s late.”

“I told you, once they arrive we’ll sort out the saddle heights and so on and then we can ride.”

“I wanna see the Taliban—I mean the other thing.” Trish was become as big a pest as Danni.

“You haven’t put pedals on your bike yet.” Danni had noticed.

“I’m waiting for them to arrive.”

“Where from?”

“Mr Rodrigues is bringing them with the bikes.”

“What about the Taliban?”

“Talayots, Trish,” corrected Livvie who had been listening after all.

“Whatever, when we gonna see them?”

As she spoke so a van pulled into the drive and a thirty something man jumped out and began unloading bicycles from the back of it. He was soon accosted by Danielle and the two larger girls. The fact they were talking showed he must speaka da English, because I don’t recall the girls speaking much if any Spanish.

I arrived to see if I had to sign anything, I did. Then he handed me the package which I presumed had my SPDs; I’d ordered white ones. He told me he’d been asked to see how I’d fared with assembling the bike. I thought it was easier to show him. He was suitably impressed. “Not many senoras could do that,” he remarked and I took it as a compliment.

“Mummy has a whole workshop at home for doing bikes,” Livvie informed him.

“You have a bike shop?” he asked.

“No, I teach at a university, but I’ve messed about with bikes since I was a kid. My husband bought me a set of workshop tools and stand one year for Christmas.”

“They’re all blue, aren’t they, Mummy?”

“Park tools,” he suggested hitting the nail firmly on the head.

“Yes, how’d ya guess that?”

“Because Park tools tools are always blue.” I informed them

“Are they?” seemed an astonished Livvie.

“They are,” confirmed our visitor. Livvie seemed okay with that. I was a little perturbed that she didn’t believe me until my opinion was confirmed by a stranger.
Perhaps she thought I was fibbing.

“Mummy plays such awful practical jokes on people,” accused Livvie and the others nodded in agreement much to my embarrassment.

Between us, we checked all the rented bikes, Danni’s had drop handle bars and she was very pleased, the others were hybrids or mountain bikes with narrower tyres. He also presented me with a puncture repair outfit which I hoped I wouldn’t need. I offered him a coffee and we sat drinking them while Phoebe lay by the pool in a small bikini and kept attracting his attention. I’ll drown her later.

“Your mother is a very special lady,” said the young man.

“We know,” answered Trish, “she’s a expert on dormice.”

“We have dormice on Menorca,” said the man.

“We know, one got into the kitchen and smashed loads of crockery.”

“They are bad news in houses.”

“This one certainly was. We’re going to see the Taliban, later.”

“Taliban?” he gasped looking strangely at me.

“Yes, old stone things, Bronze Age—aren’t we, Mummy?”

“Talayots,” I corrected.

“Ah, talayots, you must see Son Catlar, big wall all around it.”

“Is that the one with the encyclopaedic wall, Mummy?”

“Cyclopean wall, sweetheart.” Now I knew where my guide book had gone.

“Cyclopean?” queried the bike shop man.

“Yes, a type of ancient stone wall with large stones on the bottom and smaller ones above, such as Son Catlar.”

“Ah yes, that wall, it’s cyclopean, is it?”

“Apparently.”

“I must get back to the shop.” He excused himself and Trish escorted him back to his van, “Your mother, she is very pretty lady.”

“She’s a real lady—Lady Cameron, my dad’s a lord.” Did I mention Trish is lousy with secrets? Thankfully he drove off before Trish could tell him Si was a billionaire.

“So, when do we see a talaypot?”

“If we make some sandwiches, we could cycle out to somewhere.”

“Cycle? What’s wrong with the car?”

“Nothing, but it only seats five and there are nine of us.”

“You taking Lizzie on a bike?”

“I haven’t decided, but my idea was some of us could ride and the others could drive.”

“But that’s silly.”

“You could always stay at home.”

“Is Jacquie coming?”

“I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Can’t she stay home with Cate and Lizzie?”

“Why should she, she wants to see the place as much as you do.”

“Oh, okay.”

Trish gets a trifle arrogant but when you challenge her she backs down, almost as if it’s her default position which changes given further information. In reality, we could do with a bigger car or a minibus. I called Mrs Winner and she gave me a number for a car hire place that wouldn’t rob me. I arranged for the hire of a twelve seater minibus. Good job I remembered my licence.

It arrived just after lunch, where we had cheese and tomato sandwiches with some salad garnish. I signed the form, gave him my credit card to insert in his wifi card reader and fifteen minutes later we were off to Son Catlar and its ‘encyclopedic walls.’

I didn’t much like driving such a large vehicle but with everyone on board it was at least a solution. We’d locked the bikes up in the garage and set off. Son Catlar is up towards Cuitadella on the other end of the island and driving on the main road was no bother but once we got onto smaller, twisty lanes, it felt like I was driving some huge juggernaut and once or twice we nearly collected a scratch or two as other cars seemed to have such a cavalier attitude.

It’s a huge archaeological site and the walls are impressive. We wandered round for a couple of hours before Lizzie got too heavy in the papoose and Trish got bored looking at stone walls or the Taula. This a T shaped megalith which had some sort of ritualistic purpose, though they don’t know what. I took loads of photos, so some might be okay. Then we went on to Cuitadella and had some tea and cake, did a few shops, bought postcards and came home. By the time I’d parked in different places and driven in cities and country lanes, I was becoming almost used to the minibus. It didn’t have the class or comfort of my Jaguar, but it did offer a seat for everyone.

I added booted eagle to my list of birds and Egyptian vulture, plus a blue rock thrush who looks wonderful when the sun catches him.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2434 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The next day was dedicated to getting the bikes sorted for size and putting the pedals on my new Orbea. I did rise early and try to sneak a ride before the others woke, but Lizzie wasn’t playing by the rules and screamed the place down for some reason—outcome, fresh ride another day. I took them to the beach near Es Gau and they messed about in the sunshine while I watched the kite surfers trying to master their craft.

I had decided the stork I saw on day one was a black stork, a huge bird however you saw it, but after fiddling about on the beach, we dumped the stuff and walked over the ridge to the start of the nature reserve and views of the lagoon, plus one or two smaller bodies of water where we saw greenshank and a couple of species of duck.

We found more tortoises and I was pretty sure I saw a marsh harrier—they do occur here in summer. They’re the species of which it was suggested up to forty per cent of male birds have the plumage of females in order to prevent attacks by larger and more dominant males. I won’t argue with the statistics but the reason is I would suggest more speculative. I’m a biologist, but I’m on holiday so I’m not going to think about the motives of tranny marsh harriers, I’m too busy enjoying exploring the new territory and all the things to see.

It was about two hours later when we returned to the car. In this country you’d have had to pay a fortune to park near the beach, in Menorca it’s free, though you do have to pay in downtown Mao and some of the other towns. I couldn’t wait to do two things: one, to ride my new bike and two, spend some time wandering round the nature reserve. A great white egret was another new species. Goodness, much more and I’ll turn into a twitcher.

A Bonelli’s eagle soared in the distance and I imagined what it must be like to soar and the views from levels below. Eagles have purportedly wonderful acuity of sight but no colour vision, while the latter would be useful, the loss of colour wouldn’t be worth it because with it would go much of the beauty of nature and part of my enjoyment from life. So, I’m a romantic and unashamedly so.

Back home, I ditched all the kids but Danni who caught me escaping. I was going to ride for an hour to test the bike and myself. I haven’t ridden for so long my legs are going to find it a real test. She went and changed and promising Jacqui an hour or two to herself this evening, Danni and I rode north up the undulating coast road then up some narrow lanes to Sa Torreta, past some more talayots and back down a some rather neglected back roads towards Mao, before heading back towards Es Grau with its wooded road and then on to the villa which is in an area euphemistically listed as Shangri la. Apparently, the intention by a developer was to build a tourist complex as close to the lake as they could. It was stopped by conservationists, some of the walls of the block of flats were left. There are some very nice houses round here including our own. It’s in the back of beyond but even that isn’t too far away from shops if you have the use of a car. Everyone round here seems to.

A shower later and dressed again we had a barbecue for dinner, grilling some fish Mrs Winner had got us in Mao, together with jacket spuds and some odds and ends of salad we had a splendid meal. Jacquie went off to read one of her course set books while Danni and I coped with the demands of the younger children and Phoebe who’d got a trifle sunburnt falling asleep by the pool while the rest of us did things more energetic. I dealt with Cate and Lizzie and Danni spread after-sun cream on her elder, toasted sister’s back.

The next morning I was sneaking off early to walk to the hides overlooking the lagoon at S’Albufera, when I was apprehended by Trish who insisted she accompany me or would wake the whole house. Jacquie and Phoebe knew I was going so the others would get breakfast, so I told Trish to get her binns and a bottle of water and come with me. We walked about a mile to the first hide and set up my telescope on its tripod—it’s not a very powerful one, but it could focus on the far side of the lake and we watched great crested grebes and various ducks swimming and diving, cormorants looking like giant bats as they dried their wings and the great white egret was moving in a mixed group of waders and other herons. Gulls were there aplenty and as some were in eclipse plumage and I couldn’t see feet and legs, I wasn’t certain of all of them.

Overhead we had peregrine, Egyptian vultures and a solitary black kite, and in some fields beyond the lake, a pair of marsh harriers quartered the ground hunting for prey, which would include any unwary young birds. It was probably a few weeks too early for osprey, but they apparently turn up quite regularly on passage to and from Africa to their breeding territories in Europe. It astonishes me that people want to collect the eggs of these amazing creatures rather than conserve them so we can all see them in their natural habitat. However they do, though to me it’s tantamount to burglary, stealing from others for their own gratification—but I’m a well known conservationist who wants my grand children to be able to enjoy the wonders of nature before they disappear under the epidemic spread of that well known disease Homo sapiens.

We snacked on some biscuits I had in my ruckie and on the walk back a chocolate bar each which was named after some red planet in the solar system, though the wrapper is black.

“Sometimes I think I’d like to do biology because I quite like watching nature but it doesn’t have the same excitement for me that watching the sky does, Mummy. Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly, sweetheart. I can get excited watching the sky in the daytime, looking at clouds or just the blueness, which seems infinite.”

“It’s blue because the effect the atmosphere has in screening out all the other wavelengths, did you know that?”

I did but pretended not to. “Gosh, so that’s why the sky is blue, aren’t you a clever girl.”

“Yep,” she said and we walked on. “When does Daddy arrive?”

“On the weekend, hopefully, Saturday.”

“Can I come to meet him with you?”

“We’ll have to see, if any of the others come with him, there might not be room in the car.”

“You could always take the bus.”

“I could, but it might be nice to drive the car once in a while instead of that huge thing.”

“Sissy,” she said and ran off before I gave chase catching her just before the villa.

“Something doesn’t feel right, kiddo. Go and wait over there behind those bushes and if I don’t come back in five minutes to say it’s clear, call the police.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2435 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I crept into the driveway and up towards the house, the minibus was missing and the Peugeot had two slashed tyres. Looking into the house I could see no one about, but I was careful passing the windows just in case. Eventually, having crept all round the place, I summoned Trish. Inside we found a note.

'If you wish to see any of your family alive, answer the phone and do what you are told. Any tricks or police and you will regret it.'

“There was some man watching you from a car parked down the road.”

“Did he see you?”

“He musta done, but he drove off before you called me in.”

“What did he look like?”

“Like this.” She showed me a picture of him driving past and another of the car and its number plate. I didn’t recognize him or it, some sort of Toyota. I got her to send a copy to my phone, so I would remember both him and his car.

As we were talking I was aware of something moving in the bushes outside. “I’m going to the toilet, I think you’d better come as well.”

“I don’t need to go, Mummy.”

“I think you should just in case.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I want you to.”

“What f—oh, okay.” Eventually the penny dropped. I led her to the bathroom and told her to lock herself in until I returned. If that was longer than twenty minutes she was to call the police.

The toilet door locked and I crept out to the dining room and slipped through the French window. I then inched my way almost silently to the front of the house, where I could see a shadow. I got within striking range and nearly injured Phoebe.

“Mummy,” she gasped and burst into tears. “I was so frightened.”

“What happened?”

“Three men arrived with guns, I was in the pool and about to get out so they didn’t see me. They questioned Jacquie about where you were and she said she didn’t know. Then they herded them into the minibus and drove away. I waited in the pool until I started to get cold, then I hid until I saw you arrive and waited until I could see you weren’t followed.”

“Good girl, we can’t do anything until they call so I suggest you get dressed and I’ll make us something to eat and drink.

“How can you eat at a time like this?” asked Phoebe now wearing shorts and a tee shirt.

“When things start to happen, it might be some time before food is available again, so tuck in while you can.” I’d made us tuna and cucumber sandwiches—well I like them. Pouring us each a cup of tea I sat looking at my mobile and the land line in the house. Neither seemed in a hurry to ring. I wasn’t really hungry but forced down both rounds of bread and a cup of tea.

My mobile rang and we all jumped. I didn’t recognise the number, it was probably a disposable phone, use once or twice and throw away, difficult for the police to trace.

“Hello?”

“Mrs Cameron, how nice to speak with you again.”

“If you’re trying to sell me double glazing, I don’t need any.”

“Very funny—I don’t think. Be careful or I shall start killing your family.”

“Don’t you touch any of them or you’ll regret it.”

“I think you misunderstand, Mrs Cameron, I give the orders or make the threats, you just do as you are told and only you will be the one to die.”

I heard voices in the background and he shouted for them to be quiet. You have two hours to get to Cala Mesquida, when you are at the tower there, call and let me know.”

“How am I supposed to get there?”

“That is your problem, two hours or I start killing your little family. No police or they will all die.”

I supposed a taxi could have taken me but I’d have to get to Es Grau to find one, I also needed some sort of weapon. He had a gun or several, I had nothing and little chance of finding anything. I had several knives in the kitchen and I taped a suitable one to my leg and another to the small of my back. I hoped if I was searched they wouldn’t find both. Next we made two small incendiary devices using a couple of screw top jars, candles and some strips of cloth together with lamp oil. I had a disposable cigarette lighter as well. These I placed carefully in a shopping bag.

Next we all walked as quickly as we could to Es Grau and I arranged a taxi to take me to Cala Mesquida and the girls to Mao. They were to stay there until I phoned. If I didn’t by five o’clock, they were to go to the police and explain everything. As soon as they got to Mao they were to call Simon and tell him what was happening and to ask him not to call me to try and stop me. I had some sort of flexible plan now I needed to see if it would work. If it didn’t I would probably be killed, I was hoping none of the others would be hurt.

At Cala Mesquida there is a small point with a Nineteenth Century tower, possibly one the British built in their Napoleonic campaign. Spain was where Wellington learned some of his craft and tactics against the larger and better equipped French army. I hoped I was going to be able to emulate his success against Cortez, because that was who I was surely up against.

I walked up to the tower and called the number I’d been given. I could see most of the settlement down below, a few houses, boats and the odd shop to sell souvenirs to the tourists. I was told to find a house on its own away from the rest of the village, with a fence around it and blue tarpaulins covering part of the fence. I spotted it probably ten minutes walk away. They told me five, I told them to get stuffed, I’d take ten. I heard a scream in the background but refused to run there.

In fact I did run, and spotted a path to the rear of it which was partly overgrown but I managed to squeeze through and lit my devices leaving them by the fence and some gas cylinders. Then I ran back and approached the house down the narrow lane. Amazingly, they weren’t tailing me, oh well more fool them. Mind you, if the propane gas goes up, we could all be fried or killed by shrapnel.

“You took your time, Mrs Cameron.”

“I got here as quickly as I could.”

“You have another girl?”

“What’s it to you, it’s me you want.”

“We saw her out with you this morning.”

“I’ve sent her somewhere safe.”

“There are no police, boss.”

“Where are my family?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“If you’ve hurt them, I’ll...”

“You’ll what? You’ve walked into a trap. Take her phone and any weapons she’s carrying.”

They found the knife strapped to my leg but missed the one in the small of my back. It was now at least ten minutes since I’d lit my fuses, two candles. I reckoned they’d need another five.

“They thought you’d died in Brazil.” I was playing for time.

“In Brazil, it is easy to arrange a body to replace your own, the police are so inefficient or open to bribery, they’ll do anything you ask.”

“You realise that I’m not working alone and I have men stationed outside.”

“Really, and where did you get them from? Your little friend Beck is still in England, so my sources report and I doubt you have contacts in Spain unlike me. I looked at the two men who stood around the room, one between me and the door the other by the window.

“Don’t believe me then, it’s your funeral.”

“Actually, Mrs Cameron, it’s yours we’re about to arrange.”

Just then there was a muffled bang and a large flame appeared round the side of the house. Cortez ran for it, so did one of his helpers. The other he told to kill me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2436 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Prepare to die, bitch,” said the remaining thug but just as he levelled his gun at me the glass in the window burst and the flames roared in. That was enough time for me to kick him in the chest and he fell backwards towards the flames. I heard him scream but didn’t wait to find out what happened next.

Rushing out of the house I could see the fire was beginning to take over both the building and the surrounding scrub behind. I pulled down the fence and kicked the gas bottles away from the hottest part and hoped they wouldn’t explode and injure some fire fighter.

I saw Cortez’s car driving up towards the road, it wasn’t the Toyota, so where was that? I glanced round, it was a few yards behind me, incredibly it wasn’t locked and the keys were in it—how lucky was that? It started quickly and I screamed away after Cortez. If I stayed a little way off, I might be able to tail him without him realising it was me not his other man.

We passed fire engines as they rushed up towards the fire. I hoped no one had noticed me driving away from it, though looking back in the rear-view mirror, there was plenty of smoke. However, the task in hand was following Cortez to try and rescue my girls.

To my amazement we were heading back up the coast road and a short time later, I saw Cortez turn towards the villa—my villa—what’s going on? Sure enough, as I drove past the minibus was back in the drive, so they were holding my kids in my own house—cunning or what? I hoped that Trish and Phoebe didn’t wander into their trap. They shouldn’t as a thug I hadn’t seen before seemed to be standing guard at the drive.

I drove on and parked the car a few hundred yards up the road, then made my way back towards the villa, hiding in the bushes while I waited to work out what was going on. If only I had my phone I could have called Trish but Cortez had it. I hoped she didn’t try to call me, certainly not while that vermin had my Black berry.

As I waited a taxi drew up and Trish and Phoebe got out. I just managed to stop them proceeding into the villa. “I told you to wait until I told you it was safe.”

“You did, you sent me a text to say to come home.”

“Not I, that pig has my phone.”

“Oh, what’s he told Daddy then?”

“I don’t know, perhaps we’d best call him and find out.” Trish handed me her phone and I dialled Simon.

“Yes, Trish?” he answered.

“It’s me, darling.”

“What about the ransom?”

“What ransom?”

“You sent me a text asking me to arrange half a million euros to be delivered to the villa to free the rest of the children. No police as always.”

“Have you sent it?”

“It went an hour ago.”

“And you didn’t query it?”

“No, I do what you ask me to do most of the time.”

“You sent it straight to Cortez.”

“Because you asked me to.”

“He has my phone.”

“Since when?”

“Two hours or more. I’m here in the bushes across the road from the house with
Phoebe and Trish, he has the others prisoner and they have guns.”

“Call the police.”

“If there’s a gunfight, the kids could get hurt.”

“What’s to stop him killing them anyway?”

“Me.”

“Cathy, you can’t keep doing this gung ho stuff.”

I don’t have to, if he kills me he’ll let the others go.”

“You don’t know that, besides I just paid him a fortune.”

“I don’t think he complies with contracts unless they’re in his favour.”

“Cathy wait, please don’t do anything. I’ll get the police to deal with it.”

“Bye, Simon, I love you.”

“Wa...” I switched off the phone and handed it to Trish.

“If I’m not out in half an hour, send for the police and explain they have guns.”

“You’re not going in there, are you?” gasped Phoebe.

“I don’t think they’re going to surrender unless I do.”

An armoured truck the sort they use for delivering money arrived. I had a plan. One of the men opened the door of the truck and carrying a case walked towards the door. The door of the truck was left open and I saw a spare helmet. I grabbed it and ran after him.

“As the door opened, I charged behind and threw myself on the courier with the money who crashed through the door dropping the metal case as he fell. I rolled after it and snatched up the case using it to hit one of the thugs in the guts and then on the head. He fell and stayed down. Cortez came rushing out into the hall and I threw the helmet at him, he ducked but Danni running behind threw herself at him and he sprawled on the floor.

Thug number three saw what was happening and grabbed Danni holding his pistol to her head, he told me to pass him the money case.

“Trademark kick,” I said as I slid the case across the tiled floor.

As soon as the thug took the gun away from Danni she threw herself backwards and kicked over her head as hard as she could. It knocked the gun from his hand and I ran at him and kicked him twice, he fell heavily.

“Very clever, Mrs Cameron, but I’ll take this.” Cortez picked up the case while pointing the gun at us. He backed towards the door and turned just in time to see the other security guard swing his truncheon. He went down like a sack of spuds.

For the next two hours we explained to the police what had happened and they got as angry as the British police do when I deal with lowlifes by myself. I tried to explain I was here on holiday and Cortez had started it.

They received stuff back from the Hampshire constabulary about his nefarious activities and they asked the Menorcan police to hold him pending an extradition warrant. I did get my phone back eventually and was able to text Simon to say we were all safe and well.

The thug who was left to kill me survived but was badly burned. The fire was put out but not before the house was destroyed. I was told I could be liable for that having started the fire. Once I agreed to that I was allowed home.

Thankfully, the police kept it all quiet so we didn’t awake to hordes of press outside, but we did have to arrange new tyres for the car before the mess was completely sorted.

The gate to the villa, quite a high one, was kept locked from then on and I arranged for someone to fit CCTV to the gate and the approach to the house. The alarms were also to be updated. The rest of the week the house became like a building site as technicians did this and electricians did that, while I sat and fumed.

I did see a couple more bird species from the house and garden but it’s hardly the same as being out in the country doing it. Despite that inconvenience, we were all safe and sound, so I had to be grateful for small mercies. Oh and did I tell you that one of the species I saw flying over the villa was an osprey? Well it was.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2437 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I didn’t tell the girls that Simon was arriving a day early, which meant I could collect him in the car rather than the minibus. Being a typical girly I don’t like driving large vehicles and the minibus still feels like a juggernaut compared to my Jag, which in itself is not a small car.

Slipping away while the others were engaged with a swimming race I drove to the airport and collected my hubby who looked tired when he arrived. When I told him I thought he looked tired he said it was being married to the world’s number one crime fighter cum superhero cum dormouse trainer, which caused his fatigue. I told him I was definitely going to stop leaping tall buildings in a single bound. He told me he was grateful for small mercies and would love a beer.

We stopped at a supermarket on the way and bought a case of cheap local beer and one bottle from the fridge which he opened and drank on the way to the villa. I beeped the remote and the gates opened. It wasn’t long before we were swarmed over by a mass of dripping wet girls who paid far more attention to their dad than they did me. I left them all to it, put the beer in the refrigerator and started getting lunch.

Simon slept after his jacket potato and second bottle of beer, I was beginning to wonder if he needed a holiday more than I did. He woke up about four and had a dip in the pool after I’d unpacked his case. He had brought some new mugs and some sweets for the kids—did I tell you how expensive branded chocolate and sweets were here? I hid the chocolate bars in a paper bag at the back of the fridge, thereby hoping they wouldn’t investigate what was in it.

The evening was quiet and as they’d all been racing about earlier they went to bed and zonked. We stayed up for a little longer having a glass of chilled white wine while we talked.

“So what’s troubling you?” I asked.

“Apart from some nasty little toerag trying to kill you, you mean?”

“Oh, that’s run of the mill stuff, what’s really eating you?”

“Nothing,” he said meaning the exact opposite.

On me pressing him for more details of nothing he agreed that there was something. It surprised me when he told me. “The vote on Scottish independence, next week.”

“What, that you miss out on a vote?”

“I don’t get a vote.”

“If you’d been up at the castle, you would have done.”

“I’m not up at the castle, so I don’t.”

“You could have got a postal vote.”

“How d’you know I didn’t?”

“I don’t.”

“I was tempted, I really was. The yes vote is a vote by turkeys for Christmas.”

“Is it that bad?”

“The pound lost against the dollar and several banks lost share capital including our own.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I know, just impotent rage.”

“Is it going to be that bad?”

“Probably worse than all the projections, I can see the economy going tits-up if the truth were known.”

“I thought we had the best economy in Europe.”

“It’s very frail, but I could just see that bastard Salmond enjoying every bit so he can get his fetish fulfilled.”

“I thought you approved of Scottish independence.”

“Not with him in charge besides without the Scottish MPs, Labour will never win an election again because the Tories have a natural majority in England.”

“Oh, not so good.”

“You did ask what was worrying me. An act of union that’s lasted three hundred years and it only takes one tit with a one-track mind to destroy it.”

“I do admit that I find all politicians deceitful at the best of times, out and out liars at the worst.”

“How d’you know when a politician is lying?” he asked me.

“I dunno.” I’d heard it before but am lousy at remembering punch lines.

“When his lips move.”

“Will you pull the bank out of Scotland?”

“Might have to.”

“That’s going to be a real problem, isn’t it?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Not at the moment, unless you wanna do it.”

“Do what?”

“It—you know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Jesus, Mary and sodding Joseph.”

“D’you mean sex?”

“Give the lady a coconut.”

“C’mon then, I want to be up early in the morning to get a bike ride in and some bird watching.”

“I’m so glad I feature so fully in your plans, wifey.”

“You know how it is...”

“No I don’t, perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.”

We went to bed after tooth cleaning, toenail cutting, earwax removal, swimming pool descaling and watching all of Wagner’s Ring Cycle. Look if you need me to describe what we did, you’re reading the wrong story, but suffice it to say we both fell asleep after some bedroom gymnastics and a little wash afterwards—goodness I was sore, might have to rethink a bike ride. At least with our satellite television, I could record bits of the La Vuelta and from Sunday the Tour of Britain. I looked at the clock, Simon was snoring his head off, it was Saturday already—damn.

I did struggle to get up early though I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not. Not the way I felt at present. I abandoned the bike ride idea, I was a tad tender for a race saddle—I wondered if Marianne Vos had that problem.

Instead of riding, I decided to walk to the hides above the lagoon, so carrying telescope on its tripod with my folding stool, binoculars and notepad, I hoisted my ruckie onto my shoulders and strode off drinking a cup of tea and eating a slice of toast as I went. I left the cup just inside the gate and finished the charred bread as I walked. It was a beautiful morning as I walked, the air warm but nowhere near as hot as it would get by noon or early afternoon. Swallows and martins swooped on unsuspecting flying insects and I was just pleased to feel alive.

I watched the waders and herons at the lake then wandered on a bit further looking to see if I could find any hedgerow birds, not that they really do hedges here, too dry I suppose, but there were plenty of trees so birds should be there somewhere. I stopped having been spotted by some blue tits who scolded me and I was just bout to move on when I saw some movement on the ground ahead of me. I froze except to raise my binoculars to my eyes. I couldn’t believe it, standing there in an erect pose was a pine marten. Had it seen me or was it hunting? A moment later it scarpered disappearing into the undergrowth but left me with an incredible sense of privilege to have seen one of the more elusive animals on this island. Boy, did I feel good?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2438 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Simon has a saying, ‘It’s a lovely day just watch some bastard try and spoil it.’ It was to be the motto for the day. I was wandering back across the nature reserve when I saw some bloke walking towards me. He was big and obviously spent more time in the gym than a library judging by the size of his biceps and the tattoos all over them. I felt a bit vulnerable and stopped undoing my telescope and shoving it quickly into my rucksack. I pulled that back onto my shoulders and retracted the legs on my tripod. It now became a shorter but more robust weapon.

We walked almost to each other when he leant across and tried to grab me, except I sidestepped and whacked the back of his hand with the tripod. He yelled and lurched at me again, this time he parried my defensive swipe and although I avoided him grabbing my body, he got hold of my rucksack strap and swung me across the road and into some bushes. That hurt, but I managed to roll and avoid the kick smashing the tripod against his ankle. He yelled and swore at me in Spanish.

Adrenaline driven, I jumped up wrenching myself free of the bushes though my arms were stinging where I scratched them, but I was standing and as long as I kept on my feet, I had a chance.

This time he came at me aiming a kick at my face which I sidestepped and delivered a kick on my own to the back of his weight-bearing leg at exactly knee height. This time he went down yelling and I started to run. It was at this point I began to wish I’d brought a bike or done running as a fitness thing, not cycling.

I heard footsteps behind me, and then I realised someone else was running parallel to me but higher up the bank which I had to cross to get back to the road for home. So, I was going to have to deal with two of them, glad I saw the pine marten, tomorrow might be too late.

The one from above me suddenly crashed down through the undergrowth and stood in front of me. He was big and muscular but not as tattooed. I went to run around him then feinted inside before sidestepping back to my original course. It nearly worked but he dived back at me grabbing my leg until I smacked him on the head with my now slightly bent tripod. He held on so I hit him again and harder. This time he let go and I stepped away from him. Blood was running down his face as he jumped at me and this time I stabbed at him with the feet of the tripod which have spikes on the end for standing in soft ground. I caught him in the chest, ripping his shirt and possibly cracking one of his ribs but his impetus knocked me backwards and he nearly landed on top of me. I was winded but quicker rising and I stepped away from him just as his friend hobbled up. The return of hoodlum number one wasn’t exactly welcome made less so by his brandishing a quite large knife.

Number two was now on his feet and they both moved towards me as I began to think my time on this planet was now measurable in seconds if I was lucky. The knife flashed and I offered a cover drive to mid-on with the tripod. Did he yell as the knife flew away and his wrist cracked?

In the next instant number two lunged but my riposte was halted by a large black thing hurling itself at him in a snarling bundle of fury. The dog had him down and was busy trying to chew off his arm as he tried equally hard to stop it. Number one swung at me while I was watching the dog and his blow hit my shoulder causing me to drop the tripod and stumble backwards. He lunged and this time I jumped back and did a reverse kick which caught him mid-abdomen. He fell backwards and I kicked again this time at face level and he went down rolling about on the ground, blood rushing from his nose and mouth.

I called the dog off and to my astonishment it came and stood by my side snarling at the man with a very bloodied arm who was trying to roll away before the dog had him again.

A new man appeared waving a shotgun and when he whistled the dog flew to him. He nodded at me, “Okay?” he asked and I nodded. The next moment sirens sounded in the distance but getting closer and a minute later we had three police cars and a motorcycle on the scene.

The dog’s owner described what he had witnessed, the two men trying to attack me and me attempting to defend myself. Unbidden, the dog had run to my assistance tackling the one attacker while I had managed to fend off the other. Thankfully, he spoke some English and reassured me the police were not going to arrest me. The two attackers were bundled into a police van and I was offered a lift back to my villa after I thanked my rescuer and his dog who still bore the scars from his encounter with the fencing a week before.

“He recognise you, eh?”

“Does he?” I asked.

“You help him last week, yes?”

“I helped a dog, yes.”

“It was Bruno, he pay back, yes?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“’S okay.”

Simon went bananas when he saw me emerge from the police car bruised and scratched and my clothes torn and dirty. I thanked the police officer and he sort of told me I’d have to see his boss. I had a feeling it might have been the same man who read me the riot act when Cortez was apprehended.

“You must be getting old if you needed help from a dog to deal with two thugs.” Trish was even more aggressive than the two men.

“One had a knife.”

“You had a tripod.”

“I think a shotgun might have been more use.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in guns.”

“I don’t but until the dog took out one of them, I began to wonder if I was going to end up as a kebab.”

“But you disarmed him, Mummy.”

“It was all a bit too close for comfort, darling.”

“Your arms look sore, would you like me to fix them?”

“I think that would be a splendid idea, my darling.” I sat down and Trish began to do her bit with a spot of blue light. Next thing I saw was Simon with a cup of tea—I’d zonked but my arms did look and feel much better.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2439 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I’d barely had time to shower and change when the police chief arrived, and it was the same man as before. Fortunately he spoke very good English, my Spanish being restricted to ‘Olà.’

“Lady Cameron, it seems we were unable to sweep up the whole of Cortez’s gang of bandits, but now with your help and that Senor Cervantes and his dog. He said his dog came home all cut and torn as if he’d been caught up in wire last week. He didn’t think the dog had escaped by itself so someone must have assisted. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“The dog was stuck and becoming more so with each attempt to escape. I managed to cut some of it free and he got away.”

“It looks like he recognized you.”

“Or perhaps he just came to rescue a damsel in distress?”

“A knight in armour, eh?”

“Quite. I presume it was his owner who called the police?”

“Yes, he saw you in trouble and ran back to get his shotgun, though if they’d tried anything with him they’d have discovered he had no ammunition.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Senor Cervantes told me he once went to Malta for a holiday and saw how the people there shoot songbirds. It disgusted him and he has never since had any cartridges for his gun. He, like you, enjoys seeing the birds.”

“Cathy is an acting professor of biology back at home,” Simon casually dropped into the conversation.”

“The dormouse lady, now I remember where I saw you,” beamed the copper.

“Yes, she made a film about them.”

“Yes, on Youtube, where it jumps down her blouse.”

It wasn’t the film Simon had in mind, I’m pretty sure of that, why have they always seen that clip?

“Have you got all of Cortez’s gang, now?”

“We think so.”

I hope so. “Is it safe for me to wander round the nature reserve?”

“I think so, Senor Cervantes has offered to show around the best places.”

“With Bruno, I hope.”

“I would think so.”

“What does he do—for a living?” I asked.

“He writes.”

“Cervantes—writer, it figures,” I said thinking out loud.

“He claims he is a descendant of Miguel de Cervantes. Who knows, he could be.”

“You know him, obviously.”

“Lady Cameron, he was a headmaster of my daughter’s school until he had—how d’you say—a breakdown nervous?”

“Teaching is very stressful.”

“Especially when you have two mistresses and a wife.”

“Oh,” I blushed and Simon roared. “Perhaps I won’t go bird watching with him after all.”

“But you must,” insisted the copper.

“It’ll be alright, babes, Bruno will keep an eye on you.” Actually, I believed he probably would, not that I’m sure I want a practice run.

So it was decided that the day after tomorrow, I would go out with Senor Cervantes and Simon would take the others to a theme park place down on the coast. Before that, Danni and I had a fifty K ride while the others played in the pool with their dad. The girls love him to bits and I have to admit I’m quite fond of him too.

The bird watching trip was brilliant, and we saw another pine marten, not to mention a dozen or more species of feathered critters I’d have missed by myself. One of those was a hawfinch, something I hadn’t seen for ages. We had clear views of that elusive woodchat shrike, hoopoes, marsh harriers and a merlin. There were a pair of peregrines, a pair of red kite and some of black kite.

We watched a pair of the dormice together and saw several tortoise plus a hedgehog. I lost count of everything he could have shown me and at the end of the morning I walked back to the pickup point Simon had suggested. Of course he was late—half an hour late. I gave him what-for when I caught up with him

Of course he had more excuses than a politician seeking re-election—heavy traffic, more heavy traffic and the traffic was heavy. There was also an accident on the main road which caused more heavy traffic. I tried to argue that traffic was the same weight wherever you went except great depths or heights. He just gave me a blank stare but Trish tried to explain the physics of atmospheres and air pressures and why it’s different in Quantum Mechanics which made it a very long drive home, oh that and the fact that Simon gave Senor Cervantes a case of good wine for helping me out of a tight spot, and the girls presented Bruno with a bone which looked like it had come from an elephant’s leg. Needless to say both recipients were pleased with their prezzies but only one wagged his tail.

“D’you think we’ve seen the last of Cortez?” asked Simon that evening as we got into bed.

“I don’t know, he seems very good at escaping from the forces of law and order.”

“Still he’s under lock and key for the moment and hopefully the Hampshire Constabulary will get their extradition under way and then he’ll be locked up in a British clink, which we know will be safe.”

“I doubt it, I’ll only feel safe when I know for certain he’s dead.”

“Want me to arrange it?”

“No I don’t.”

“You want to do it yourself?”

“No, I don’t wish to see anyone killed or injured, but he seems such a dyed in the wool nasty piece of work, it’s the only way I’d feel safe.”

“Well he won’t come near here again, will he?”

“I hope not, Simon.”

“He won’t, because next time you might decide to make things safe, if you get my meaning.”

“I understand perfectly, however, I have no desire to spend umpteen years in a Spanish prison, though I suppose it would be one way to learn the language.”

“Yeah, good point.”

I kissed him goodnight and turned over to sleep on my side. I heard his breathing ease into slow tempo which showed he was fast asleep. I however, tossed and turned thinking about Cortez and why I had this uncomfortable feeling in my solar plexus when I did so. I had a horrible feeling he’d escape before or during extradition. Hopefully, because these things take forever, we’ll be back at home before it happens and that might make me feel more secure.

I finally fell asleep reassured by Simon’s arm draped around my waist and his snoring emulating the approach of an attack helicopter. There is a certain comfort in the familiar.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2440 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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We were approaching the end of our holiday and I felt a total mix of emotions. Part of me felt homesick for Daddy and Stella and our house; part of me wanted to stay here in the sunshine eating paella and watching the wildlife. Perhaps when the kids are grown up and I’m looking to retire or work less hard, I might come back to live here. I see the Catalonian separatists want to split from Spain, I don’t know if that includes the Balearic Islands: but then I have little or no interest in politicians, very few are honest.

I asked Simon if there was anything he wanted to do before we went home. There wasn’t. “Babes, I used to spend every summer here when I was younger, I been there or seen that or got the tee shirt.”

I decided I wouldn’t ask why he seemed to get lost so often, he’d only say because things had changed. They probably have, but that just means Menorca is part of the world. Things change because if they don’t they become extinct, nowadays faster than ever. Even backwaters like Menorca change or are influenced by external factors, sometimes after much soul searching or opposition. So if Catalonia goes independent, presumably that will include the Balearics too. How that will affect our property—who knows, we’ll just have to wait and see.

If you read the papers they’ll tell you one thing one day and the opposite the next, or is that just the tabloids? Sadly, they all do it to an extent, even the good ol’ Grauniad. Perhaps it’s endemic in journalism.

Jacquie asked if she could go and see Ciudadela, they’d had a look round Mao or Mahon, as the Spanish call it, and wanted to see the old Capital. There was nothing anyone else wanted to do more, so we piled in the bus and Simon drove us to Ciudadela, where we walked and walked, even going as far as the old tower or Castillo San Nicolas. We did the cathedral with its magnificent stained glass windows and the harbour with its millionaire’s houses with their own slipways and the huge cabin cruisers which cost more than the average house back home in the UK. One or two were from London, or registered there, not sure I’d want to sail round the Bay of Biscay in something that small, but presumably they did safely, or they wouldn’t be here now. The opulence was breathtaking, then I realised Simon could have something like that if he wanted—fortunately, he doesn’t want.

I was lost to my own thoughts for several minutes trying to reconcile my wealth with my socialist principles. I’m not sure I succeeded but gave up my musings when Trish asked about the windmill in the centre of the city. It’s now a restaurant cum night club and so we didn’t go in, instead taking photos from the outside.

Wandering through the narrow lanes of the old city, we came across houses that were almost right onto the road with perhaps an entrance to a garage which would have presumably once been a stable or place to keep a cart. Occasionally, it was obvious that the towering walls concealed courtyards or gardens, with the odd glimpse only available. Down by the cathedral, there is however a walled garden which is open in the afternoon, and which I think it said was owned by the cathedral or its clergy. It was quite old and had its own well.

The sun beat down and we stopped for lunch at a pavement cafe where the children all wanted paella, except Danni who wanted pizza. I tried to explain that pizza came from Italy and we were in Spain. On a compromise of a small bottle of beer, she agreed to have paella with the others. Simon said he fancied a curry and I wanted fish—not necessarily with chips. In the end I had bass and Simon a very poor curry which he complained about the rest of the day.

“You always accuse me of making such weak curry, how did that compare?” I asked from a safe distance.

“Yours is better, don’t ask me to say, how or why.”

“Perhaps because it’s made with love?”

“Maybe,” was all he allowed himself to say.“Or the poison is a slow-acting one,” he added moments later.

“That would be it,” I said smirking.

“See, I knew you were only after me for my body.”

“Yes, after rendering it should be worth a few quid by the kilo.”

“You can be very hurtful, you know.”

This coming from someone who is usually as sensitive as concrete, reinforced variety.

“C’mon, Si, it was only a joke.”

He suddenly burst into...laughter. He’d got me again.

We stopped at a restaurant on the top of El Toro, which at three hundred and fifty metres is the highest point on the island, the views are magnificent in pretty well all directions. I’d been there before, there’s a church and what used to be a monastery is now a military installation complete with wireless aerials and radar dishes. I wondered what their Sky reception was like. The birds were less visible now as the day began to draw into eventide, but we did see a blue rock thrush and some painted lady butterflies were in evidence as well.

Looking slightly north-west there is another hill, Santa Agueda which is about two hundred and fifty metres high and which is only reachable on foot or possibly by mountain bike or trail bike. It’s supposed to be a footpath only and they all agreed it would be a good place to visit on our final day. I wondered if they’d feel quite so enthusiastic after a long uphill walk.

We called by a supermarket on the way home and collected some food for the morning, rolls and cheese with some salad. I agreed to make everyone food and they’d have a bottle of water as well, but they’d have to carry it themselves. Simon agreed to carry Cate when she got tired and I would have Lizzie plus my own food and water. Lizzie, I would carry on my front and my other stuff including binoculars would be in my rucksack, which had cleaned up very well after my encounter with Cortez’s two thugs. But for a large bow-wow and his master, I might have been with my ancestors now not planning cheese sandwiches for the morrow.

After carting Lizzie around much of the day while the girls volunteered to push Cate about in her buggy, I felt quite tired. Simon had taken her for some of the time, but she seems to prefer me—don’t know why. But then I don’t know why some cats will come to me and other women but are wary of men, even though they are sometimes cat lovers too. Dunno if that applies to dogs as well, never heard anyone say it about them. Musing on this I fell asleep almost the instant I got into bed, much to Simon’s disgust.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2441 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The hill known as Santa Agueda has had a chequered history being a farm and a fortress. It was originally occupied by the Romans who built a road up to the top and it later became a fortress when it was held by Arabs as part of the Caliph of Cordoba. It was overrun by King Alfons III of Aragon in 1287 and destroyed by his nephew in 1343. That’s what the guide book said, all I knew was it was a long and difficult climb with children.

We headed towards Ferreries and turned off to the right, parking at the bottom of the hill near the ruined property which looks as if it might have been a cafe or shop. The hill towered over us and Trish said loudly, “We’re going up that?”

“Yes,” I said handing her her backpack. The others took theirs without comment. I pulled on the baby carrier and loaded Lizzie into it, then my rucksack. Simon pulled on his rucksack and held Cate’s hand as we set off up the road and then a few yards later turned up the track. It’s very rough in places, and it seems quite obvious that the last people to pave the track were the Romans. It’s a national monument but they don’t seem to spend any money on it.

It wasn’t long before we had loads of moans and Simon was carrying Cate. If Trish had had her way, he’d have been carrying her as well. She dawdled and dithered as we tried to move up the hill, and twice I spoke sharply to her.

“Why can’t I stay here and you collect me on the way back?”

“Because we’ll be half an hour’s walk away, now stop moaning and get walking.”

“But I don’ wanna walk up this stupid hill, alright?”

“You don’t have a choice, young lady, now come along.”

“C’mon, Trish,” called Simon already fifty yards ahead.

I took her hand and practically dragged her up the rough, uneven path, stepping between boulders and ruts as we picked our way upwards.

“What’s the problem?” asked Simon.

“She doesn’t want to come.”

“Let her stay then,” said Simon. Trish almost danced around in triumph.

“We can’t, this is a very popular place, there could be all sorts about.”

“So, that’s her choice. If she gets murdered or abducted, it’s her fault not ours, we tried to explain the risks to her.”

“Murdered?” she gasped.

“Yeah, like your mother said there could be anyone about, locals, tourists—anyone.”

“But I’d be all right, wouldn’t I?” she said in a voice which tended to convey anything but conviction.

“Dunno, kiddo, but we’re not waiting for you any longer. See you later if you’re still here.” He winked at me and we continued walking towards Jacquie and Danni who were with all the others.

I glanced back and Trish had sat herself down on a large stone with her arms folded and a scowl on her face.

“We can’t leave her,” I said to Simon.

“She’ll be along in a minute, you just wait.”

“This is Trish we’re talking about, more stubborn than a mule with superglue.”

“She’s nine, she’ll be along, you carry on, I’ll wait for her,” we were now out of sight of our recalcitrant daughter.

“I can’t, I’m going back for her,” I said imagining all sorts of disaster.

“If you do, she wins.”

“She’s won anyway, it’s not a game, Simon, this is our child we’re talking about.”

He muttered something under his breath and stormed back down the hill towards her. I simply stood and waited. Then my blood pressure went through the roof when I heard him calling her name. Surely she hadn’t had something happen already, it was only two minutes. Panic stricken, I turned and went as quickly as I could back down the track, several times nearly falling in the process. Neither were visible as I rounded the bend and I began to wonder if my blood pressure rose any higher, I’d have a stroke.

I called both their names looking to right and left as I descended, when suddenly they both emerged from behind a hedge and stood in front of me. “Where have you been?” I shouted at them tears running down my face, and waking up Lizzie who was crying as well.

“I had to go for a poo.” Trish stared at the track as she spoke.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I just did,” she said angrily.

“Is that why you didn’t want to come with us?”

“Yes.”

“All you had to say was you needed to go, I’d have waited for you.”

“Huh, you usually tell me off about pollution and asked me why I didn’t go before we left home.”

“I can assure you, I would not.” What did these kids think I was, an eco-fascist?

“Um, you might, babes.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” I turned on my heel and nearly fell over before I strode away trying to see through the tears which refused to stop leaking from my eyes. Lizzie was still crying as well and I felt like throwing myself off the top when we got there. I knew I wouldn’t but I felt betrayed by both my husband and my daughter, combining to deliver a double whammy.

For the next twenty minutes, I stumbled on ahead as the path got worse and then suddenly better, as we edged round what was once some sort of meadow. Up ahead I could see the others and behind me I knew that Simon and Trish were walking hand in hand. I realised that Jacquie or Danni must be carrying Cate as she’d never walk this far, because Simon didn’t have her—did he? I turned and watched the two behind me, they were holding hands and in earnest conversation about something. He certainly didn’t have Cate.

“Where’s Cate?” I called down to him.

“What?”

“Where’s Cate, you were carrying her?”

“With Jacquie, isn’t she?”

This was turning into a nightmare. I started to run to catch them up. Now the path was mettled, cobbles and slabs laid by the Romans which wound around the beginnings of retaining walls. The hove into sight and I called to them, “Have you got Cate?”

The Roman road at Santa Agueda.(Photo courtesy of Wiki)

Jacquie hoisted her up in front of her. I began to cry from relief. My legs and back were aching from the load I was carrying, the exertion of having run about two or three hundred yards uphill, and the heat. I slowed to a crawl sniffing and sobbing as I went. I felt exhausted and despite being with nearly all my family, I felt very alone.

For the first time in two weeks, I couldn’t wait to get home. Suddenly the order of work and home appealed tremendously. This was a foreign country, I didn’t know it very well and the fears I’d have had if we’d mislaid a child at home were magnified by ten.

I wiped my eyes and struggled on.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2442 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The rest of the day went remarkably well. The area at the top of the hill afforded some spectacular views across part of the island up towards Fornells and along the coast west of it.

The birdlife on the island continued to delight me and once again Bonelli’s eagles soared in the distance, while black redstarts were present on the edges of the cliffs, presumably on passage. I’d seen them back home but never in this sort of numbers.

We had our picnic, sitting on the plastic sheet Simon had carried up the hill. It also enabled me to put Lizzie down for a short while. She’d got heavy walking up the hill. I’ve trudged up hills before, often laden with binoculars and telescopes plus my lunch and water, but not carrying a burgeoning baby. She suckled from me, distracted by the sun in her eyes at one point and then she fell asleep in mid suck. I stroked her face and once more she tried to suck my nipples off.

There were other people about, it is a very popular place, Santa Agueda, and the ruins were quite impressive. Apparently, there had been a chapel dedicated to St Agatha at one time which might explain the name, but it’s no longer distinguishable from the ruined farmhouse and general decline of the place.

The descent was more orderly and we all stayed together, Simon carrying Cate, me with Lizzie again, holding hands with Meems as we walked. Danni, Trish and Livvie did go on ahead, trying to catch lizards but never succeeding. Over the rough part of the path we all helped each other, trying to avoid sprained ankles or broken bones on our last night in Menorca.

Simon booked a table for us all for dinner but before that we had one last hour or two using the pool at the villa, which we all enjoyed. Then a shower and change of clothing, plus a bit of make up for us girls and Simon escorted us all a restaurant on the outskirts of Mao, where Danni and I shared a final paella and the others ate all sorts of things, some Spanish and some not. Simon’s spicy chicken looked more Mexican than Spanish but he enjoyed it—with chips? They seem to assume that all we Brits eat is chipped potatoes, usually thin horrible things the ‘Mericans call French fries, and the sort of rubbish the burger chains sell to have with burgers and other assorted food abominations.

After dinner it was home to pack as we had an early flight the next morning, which meant leaving at silly am. Given the sort of day I’d had where my lachrymal glands had worked as hard as my legs, I went off to sleep very quickly accompanied by a lullaby chorus of cicadas and Scops owls.

The next morning was here all too quickly and from five o’clock it was bedlam until we departed at six to drive to the airport, Simon dropping us off outside while he took the minibus back to the rental firm. He joined us ten minutes later and we spent the next twenty minutes queuing for the flight and to get our baggage dealt with at the check in. At least no one had tried to bring back a stray dog or cat or wild animal. Danni had added some clothes but her case was just inside the limit.

As Mrs Winner had arrived to see us off from the villa, I had remembered to hang my bike on the wall of the garage. The rest, the bike shop would collect at their convenience by agreement with Mrs Winner. To keep her sweet, I left her an envelope with a hundred Euros, knowing that she’d keep looking after the villa for another year and her husband would do the pool and garden. None of it was hard work but they did it efficiently and were reasonable in their charges.

Despite having had breakfasts, the children wanted food at the airport, where like everywhere else it’s a rip off. However, it kept them busy and quiet so Simon sighed and paid for the mounds of cake and pastries they scoffed. After watching them tucking in for a few minutes I decided I could force down something with my tea and came back bearing a tuna baguette, of which, Simon ate half.

I had my iPad so settled down with the headlines and then the crossword. I felt sick when I saw those thugs in the Islamic State had executed the British aid worker in the same way they had the two Americans before. They give terrorists a bad name and certainly they’ve been decried by most Muslims the world over, not that will bring their victims back or prevent more obscenities of barbarism. And that chap was trying to help people in Syria—no wonder there is such racial and religious tension in various places, these monsters ramp it up deliberately. I hope they catch them but that they resist capture—although we could always give them to the Americans after they’ve served so many years here, they won’t leave a US jail alive. I shuddered, I don’t usually feel that angry with people, but they were so disgusting, presumably being recruited by militants in the UK or Europe. It’s the way they revel in their barbarism that disgusts me. Still, a grenade in their knickers would sort that.

I read an interview in the Guardian a few weeks ago with some radical Islamic preacher who wants sharia law in the UK, and decries virtually everything the government does except the benefits he and his family receive. The irony wasn’t lost to me that we not only allow these people the right to preach against us and our ways of life, yet we don’t pull the plug on them financially. Perhaps if he had to earn a living he’d have less time to ponder his anti British thoughts.

Mind you, the same could apply to Mr Salmond, leader of the separatist movement in Scotland, who is chief conductor of the turkeys who are marching towards Christmas, filled with the delusions and falsehoods that form his very own brand of stuffing.

Feeling thoroughly depressed I moved on to the crossword and began the contest of my single functioning brain cell against the mind of the compiler, in this case ‘Paul’, who does some wonderfully whimsical clues, some of which delight with double entendre.

After I had done half the puzzle our flight was called, and all ten thousand of us moved towards the plane. In three hours we’d be back in Blighty and waiting for our baggage—oh the joys of travelling.

It took about twenty minutes for us to wander up the stairs of the aircraft and take our seats. Of course the girls didn’t want the ones they were allocated and played musical chairs for several minutes until I persuaded them that one of the flight attendants was coming to sort them out, then they all jumped into a seat and stayed there even after the trolley dolly had passed.

Another twenty minutes and cuddling Lizzie, I tried to relax as the aircraft thundered down the runway and took to the air. Listening to my MP3 player and Nigel Kennedy playing Brüch and I was floating on air, looking forward to seeing Daddy, Julie and Sammi together with Stella and her two girls. I was even contemplating seeing our psycho-kitten with some pleasure, I felt so good as I drifted off into a violin induced snooze. I mean, what could go wrong?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2443 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Leavin’ on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again...” trilled Danni, getting sniggers from her younger siblings, although she was singing in tune in her soprano voice. It seemed that the last person to have their voice break in our household was Simon.

I awoke from my violin concerto induced slumbers and opened my eyes, hence I knew Trish and co were sniggering. Thankfully, the object of their amusement wasn’t aware or we’d have had some snappy comments. I glared at them and they went back to watching whatever was on the in flight televisions.

Waking up, I felt a need to get rid of the cuppa I’d had at the airport, and dumping the sleeping Lizzie into Danni’s arms, I rose and walked down the corridor to the toilet. Both of the conveniences had short queues, mainly women, so I carried on up to the tail of the machine and tagged on to the end of the queue.

I chatted with two women, then one woman and finally it was my turn to enter the sliding door and relieve myself. That felt better and after a wash of my hands, I opened the door only to be confronted by a nightmare. Before me stood Cortez, how the hell...? Then I saw the young man holding his arm and finally, Cortez was wearing handcuffs. He was being extradited, but on our flight—I’d get Jason to complain about that to the Justice Department.

Before I could say anything, he hit the young copper in the guts and then in the face. I stood there shocked before he shoved me backwards into the loo and grabbing some old lady’s walking stick he jammed the door shut.

“Gonna kill you this time,” he spat trying to get his hands around my throat. I managed to get my arm in the way and try as he might he couldn’t strangle me, though my arm was hurting from the pressure of the cuffs.

There was banging on the door and angry voices ordered him to open the door and come out. He swore back at them in Spanish while I struggled to stop him hurting me. I thought I could hear Simon’s voice but surely the police would deal with this attack.

Cortez pulled back from me. I was sprawled on the toilet whilst he leant back against the washbasin. Next moment, he slapped me across the face in a two handed movement which had me seeing stars. I could taste blood in my mouth and my eye seemed to be swelling up. He went at my throat again and once again I got my arm up. He went to hit me again but this time I saw it coming and punched him in the groin. He gasped and grunted something at me before he tried to kill me again with renewed vigour.

As I tried to fight him off I began to feel he was winning, he was stronger and standing, using his body weight to force his hands towards my throat. The banging on the door began afresh, and somehow the walking stick was dislodged. The door was ripped open and Cortez was dragged out by Simon. I heard two blows before he returned to rescue his sobbing wife from the toilet.

He walked me back to my seat, and I saw two policemen rolling Cortez on his face whilst they relocked his hands behind him. Walking me back, Simon was applauded by the other passengers and a trolley dolly asked me if I’d like a drink. I didn’t, I wanted to go home. She handed me some painkillers and a glass of water, then a few minutes later, returned with an ice pack.

Simon returned to sit beside me, he had a large brandy in his hand which was shaking slightly. I glanced at him and thanked him for rescuing me. He smiled and said, “Anytime.” It was then I noticed his bruised knuckles and grazed fingers. “Took me moment to get the door open,” he added and kissed me on the side of my face. Once the stick had been dislodged he broke the lock simply by dint of his strength, probably helped by adrenaline once he knew I was in there with that monster.

Somehow Lizzie slept right through the flight and a short while later, so did I, with Simon’s protective arm around me. Of course on arrival at Southampton, we were all asked to remain seated while police boarded the plane and Cortez was taken off and shoved into a police van. Then it drove off and we were invited to gather our belongings and leave.

If only...we were intercepted by the airport police and escorted off to an interview room. We had to give statements individually together with our names and address. After that I was interviewed for half an hour before they let me go to my waiting family and the taxi which had first brought us to the airport three weeks before and had returned to collect us.

I still had the ice pack in my hand as I clambered inside and sat next to Trish. Danni held onto a wriggling Lizzie who wanted my breast. I fed her on the journey home while the others pretended it was an everyday occurrence. It was, but the situation had changed from the house to this minibus taxi.

An hour after returning home we had the police at the door. They wanted to know why Simon had to hit him so hard. “The bastard tried to kill my wife, he was lucky I only wanted to disable him, part of me felt like killing him.”

I think they secretly sympathised with him, except they couldn’t say so. I’d deliberately not allowed Trish near my face which was turning nice shades of purple and black and my left eye was swollen and closing. They took photographs and suggested I see my doctor or went to the hospital. Once again I described how he tried to kill me before Simon stopped him.

“You realise he’s lost several teeth and you broke his nose and one cheekbone,” the most senior copper informed Simon who shrugged.

“If it were your wife in there how would you react?” Si threw back at the copper.

“It’s about excessive use of force.”

“He’d hurt one of you lot, he was trying to murder my wife. I don’t consider I used excessive force. I feel I was well within my rights to hit him harder, and if I see him again, I probably will.”

“Now, your lordship, I don’t think threats will help your argument one bit.”

“Well, I hope you remember about all this when some bastard grabs your wife and tries to kill her. Then you might have some idea what we’re talking about because at the moment you’re talking through your arse.”

Funnily enough they left soon afterwards, just as Jason arrived to organise our legal defence and counter petitions. He took loads of photos of my face, he also said as it was sub judice he’d put a blocking order on the press. All they were allowed to print was report of an assault on a fellow passenger by a prisoner being brought back to the country under police escort. Once they knew who it was, they’d be around the gate in herds. The gates were locked.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2444 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“D’you think they’ll find out who we are?” I asked Si as we went to sleep in our own bed, my face was burning despite some arnica cream I used.

“Who’s they?”

“The press.”

“If they do Jason will have a field day closing it down, writs will be flying faster than Concorde.”

“Concorde?”

“Yeah, you know, the supersonic airliner.”

“I know what you mean, it’s just I was surprised at your use of it.”

“I’ve flown in it.”

“When?”

“About fifteen years ago. Dad took me to the States in it.”

“Did Stella go as well?”

“No, she was doing something girly like a gymkhana.”

“I think you got the better deal.”

“So do I, but she had ambitions of riding for GB in the Olympics or something.”

“She’s a good equestrian, then?”

“She was, don’t think her arse has sat on a horse for ten years or more.”

“D’you need to be so crude, darling?”

“I’m an aristocrat, we’re all vulgar.”

“So I heard.”

“From where?”

“Don’t you mean who?”

“Didn’t think you’d name names.”

“It was Stella, I think.”

“There’s a surprise.”

“Why d’you say that?”

“Because it’s the sort of thing Stella would say being a total hypocrite.”

“Is she?” I was and wasn’t surprised by this.

“Yeah, she can tell the plebs to naff orff, just as well as Princess Anne.”

“Isn’t that being a snob more than crude?”

“Not when she says it to all and sundry, including other aristos.”

“I suspect there probably some I’d like to say it to.”

“But you don’t, because you really are a lady, an angelic one. Anyway, my angelic aristocrat, I’m working tomorrow, so my slumber becomes somewhat pressing.” We kissed and I turned over on my side facing away from him, whereupon he cuddled into the back of me and we both fell asleep quite quickly, me with visions of Stella telling someone to naff orff.

The next morning I was surprised to see Simon still asleep in the bed with me. “I thought you had to go to work?” I said to him.

“Not until nine, I have a meeting.”

“Has Sammi gone on her own?”

“I hope not, she’s supposed to be accompanying me to the meeting.”

“It’s seven, this time tomorrow the girls all go back to school.”

“I thought Trish would have been at Oxford by now.”

“Why?” I hoped I sounded as horrified as I felt by his suggestion.

“Well she’s a genius, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know about genius, but she is a gifted child.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Um—genius?”

He rolled his eyes, “Bloody women, you’ll change the subject next.”

“Who me? No I won’t—they say it’s supposed to get quite warm today.”

“See, I told you.”

“Told me it was going to be warm?”

“No, about you changing the subject.”

“But I haven’t—it’s you who’s done that.”

“What are you on about?”

“Can’t stop, need to get showered and organise breakfast.” I shot into the bathroom partly to confuse him and partly to answer a pressing call of nature. I half expected him to follow me into the shower and might not have refused a bit of hanky-panky if he’d asked—but he didn’t. Instead I got dried and dressed and on returning to the bedroom found he was fast asleep again.

“Si, you’re going to be late,” I said to him shaking him gently.

“Yeah okay,” he said without opening his eyes.

I went to the bathroom and returned with a cool damp flannel. I’d only touched half his face when he jumped out of bed and dashed to the bathroom making all sorts of threats. I went downstairs with a soggy Lizzie, who seemed to have a teething cold. I changed her and let her clamp as best she could to my breast. Her breathing was obviously worrying her and she cried with frustration. I felt like joining her.

First down was Julie followed by Jacquie and then Sammi. Julie went up to call Phoebe who was apparently up, showered and doing her makeup. Sammi already looked like a million dollars in what looked like a Chanel suit, I have one just like—hang on... “Nice suit,” I said, it did look good on her.

“Yes, Aunty Stella said you wouldn’t mind me borrowing it for this meeting. Trying to look the aristocrat’s daughter, you know.”

Did I? Know, that is. I doubted it never having been a daughter to one. Dad was a quantity surveyor not a lord or baron or viscount or whatever. He was a professional, very good at his job and from which he made a reasonable living. So that would make me a middle class school kid not a baron’s brat or knight’s kid. There was no silver spoon in my gob, I was brought up to believe I would need to earn a living not be kept by a chinless wonder of a parent to be married off for breeding with some long lost cousin to produce inbreds. Sometimes I believed I got the better of the deal, but then I wasn’t sure I wanted to be an aristocrat’s wife in the first place, just happened that way. However, I hope Holly Barrett never finds out. She was a girl I used to squabble with in nursery because we both wanted to be a princess—or at least wear the outfit they had in the dressing up box. I wonder what she’s doing now, probably married to a chartered accountant with two point four children and a Vauxhall Insignia parked on the drive of her four bedroom, detached, new build house.

Well stick this, Holly, I got to be the princess after all. I blushed as I realised I nearly said that out loud to Sammi.

“You don’t mind, do you?” said Sammi snapping me back to the present.

“Not this time, sweetheart, and you do look lovely in it.”

“Thank you, Mummy.” We hugged and she pecked me on my cheek. “Meeting you and Daddy was the best thing ever.”

I smiled back to her, I suspected she was right but confirming it might seem a trifle smug.

“Meeting them was the best thing for all of us,” observed Julie buttering some toast before scoffing it.

“I’ll second that,” agreed Phoebe. “When my first mum died I never thought anyone could ever take her place, yet I needed someone. When I saw her at the cemetery that day we should have done that course she told me that Cathy was the right person to take over from her. I’m so glad you did, Mummy.” She hugged me and pecked me on the cheek, too.

“Okay, enough of the nostalgia, let’s get this show on the road.” I bustled about the kitchen making teas and toasts while Julie made herself and Simon coffees. He appeared as if by magic once his coffee was poured, followed by Tom coming in through the back door with Kiki.

“Och, that smells guid,” he said sniffing the aroma of coffee, so Julie poured him a cup as well.

“Did you vote?” Simon asked Tom.

“They didnae gie us exiles a vote, we’d hae voted no, unlike thon bairns he’s gi’n thae vote tae.” I took it Daddy disapproved of sixteen-year-olds being encouraged to vote in the Scottish referendum, seeing it as an easy way of increasing the yes vote. Cynical? Perhaps, but I agreed with him.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2445 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“There’s a wee gathering o’ thae clans outside yon gate,” Tom said as he sipped his coffee.

“Come to see how you’d vote, have they?” I teased.

“I think they micht be moore interested in ye, Cathy, as they wis takin’ aboot aircraft and extradition.”

“Oh bugger, someone has told the press, probably for thirty pieces of silver.”

“Cathy, I dinna ken which is worse, yer blasphemy or yer immodesty.”

“Well it’ll give you something to think about, won’t it?” I had bigger fish to fry and worrying about denting his god’s ego was low on my priority list. I don’t believe in men made gods, men are men and gods are imaginary. So how can you blaspheme a figment of someone’s imagination? You can’t insult something which doesn’t exist. Besides, I hadn’t intended to compare myself with Jesus, just an act of betrayal of one human to a group of other humans.

Simon had been watching the group growing outside the entrance way. He pointed them out on the screen of the CCTV. “Well, I’ve got to go soon.” I glanced at the clock, it was eight.

The younger children arrived and Livvie asked who all the people were. “Remember the little fracas on the aeroplane?” I asked her.

“When that bloke grabbed you in the toilet and Daddy bashed him?”

“Exactly that, well those people out by the gates are the press and they want a story about it.”

“Why? It was boring.”

Not to all of us, Livvie. “Yeah, I suppose it was.”

“Couldn’t see anything.”

“I don’t think there was very much to see.”

“What, Daddy decking someone, I wish I coulda seen it. Bang wallop, an’ he goes darn like a sack a spuds.”

“The word is down, Livvie, not darn.”

“Well, Mummy, darn sarf, thass wot we says.” She giggled and ran off before I could say anything. I did think about complaining to the school before realising she was winding me up, perhaps not the best time for it.

The cameras have sound recording and it transpired they’d decided to wait for us to emerge as they knew we would have to at some point and at the same time they knew we wouldn’t answer the gate. Simon was aware of this and said he had to brave them to get to his meeting. I watched Sammi and he stride out to the car before he opened the gates and blasting his horn at them he drove through them and off to his meeting, Sammi sitting alongside him possibly prompting rumours in the red tops. Oh well they’ll print what they want to and we’ll sue who we want to. Just think of it as keeping the lawyers in a manner to which they have become accustomed as much as protecting our name.

If they were still out there tomorrow they catch me leaving with a car load of girls going to school, or would they have given up by then? I spotted Jackson from the Echo, he’s been after me for ages but so far I’ve eluded him. I suppose the law of averages suggests he’ll get me one day, but I decided today was not the one.

Tom had changed into his working clothes, ie his university suit. He still had egg on the tie from weeks ago but his shirt looked clean though not ironed. I wondered if he’d worked on his own laundry while I was away because it didn’t look as if Stella had done any for him. He drove through them the landrover horn blasting at them as they jumped back from his on-rush.

An hour after they watched Tom leave they decided to take more direct action and began pressing the bell on the electronic gates. David had arrived and told them to clear off, there was no one of that name here. It was me they wanted, it was Jason they got, on his way to court.

In his legal outfit, mourning jacket with pinstripe trousers over white shirt and jabbo. I heard him ask them what they wanted. They wanted to talk to the hostage, then to my hubby for rescuing me, and was my life really in danger from Cortez. Jason explained it was all sub judice and he couldn’t possibly comment but that he’d give them some sort of statement tomorrow.

Tomorrow? Oh poo, I have to take the girls back to school tomorrow. Jason called in briefly and I answered his questions. He cobbled together a statement and translated it into legalese. It made very little sense but that was part of his plan. He drove off stopping at the gates to give them his latest document before rushing off in his Mercedes.

I glanced at the calendar and groaned. Livvie and Trish had dental check-ups scheduled today, at eleven, it was now half past nine. I sent them up to change and clean their teeth before doing so myself. Leaving Stella and Jacquie in charge of the children, we got into my car and drove down to the gates, they opened and I drove at them beeping and cursing them except they didn’t move. They knew I couldn’t run them over. David could see what was going on and called the police.

The two girls in the back thought it was funny at first but then became anxious as the throng enveloped my Jaguar. Now I couldn’t go backwards or forwards without running someone over.

The arrival of a police car eased the situation and we were let go by the crowd, most of whom didn’t look like they’d slept very long the night before. I honestly worried about how long they’d been waiting. I sent a text to Simon, who reminded me he was in a meeting—wonderful.

I dealt with the dentist, both girls had good teeth and needed nothing done, return in six months. That suited me fine. We went to Waitrose and bought a whole boot full of groceries and when we got home the reporters had all gone. I wondered if Henry had been involved but apparently not. It was Simon and I had to be at the hotel at Southsea for a press conference, so to look tidy. I felt like refusing for his last statement alone. However, I knew we had to grasp the nettle, I suppose he thought by taking the initiative we had some control over the outcome. For an intelligent man, he sometimes lacks common sense, but I had to go nonetheless. We came as a team and Jason would be there too, acting as master of ceremonies. Between us, I hoped we could cope with the situation and perhaps then they’d leave us in peace.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2446 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“You look very nice, Mummy.”

“Why thank you, Danni.” I smiled at my newest daughter who was wearing more makeup than the rest of us put together and I was going out to face the public in that suit, the YSL one, with silk blouse and matching red shoes. I wore red lipstick which was slightly unusual for me, preferring a more subdued look. The facial bruising had disappeared overnight, probably courtesy of our local, neighbourhood genius.

When I explained where I was going Trish, nagged by Livvie, produced her phone and showed me three pictures of Cortez on the aircraft. The first was of him hitting the policeman; the second, him pushing me back into the toilet and the third of Simon dragging him out of the loo. I got her to transfer them to a memory stick and emailed them to Jason. I also took the stick plus my iPad to the meeting.

This time the gateway was clear and the short drive to Southsea uneventful except for the amount of traffic. Portsmouth is the most densely populated area in England, and except for places like Hong Kong, where people live more densely packed than sardines, it may well be one of the most populated islands, certainly in Europe. The only things denser than the traffic were the people driving the cars. If most of them had another brain cell they’d be dangerous.

I finally arrived at the hotel and one of the staff rushed out and escorted me in via a side door to avoid the press who were in some numbers in reception. Simon was already there looking dapper in his work suit, Sammi had come for moral support and looked really good in my Chanel suit.

We hugged and she said, “Ooh, red lipstick, the lady means business.”

I blushed but nodded and Simon chuckled. I showed him the photos Trish had taken and he rushed off to see if we had a projector we could use if Jason deemed it necessary. Sammi entertained me while we waited for him to return. “I’m buying a car.”

“Are you, darling, what sort?”

“A BMW Z4, it’s a two seater sports jobby.”

“I think I know the sort,” I replied, “What colour is it?”

“Black. Daddy knows the chap who’s selling it, so we got it for a bargain price, only done twenty thou.”

“So it’s only costing you a pound a mile is it?”

She blushed. “How did you guess that?”

“Dunno, just a guess, I guess.” We both looked at each other then laughed.

“It’s a convertible, the roof folds into the boot.”

“Would be nice this weather, then.”

“Yes, you watch it rain next week. I’ve got a couple of days off.”

“Oh I don’t know, I think it might be nicer than you think.”

“Never mind, Julie and I are going down to Nice for a few days.”

“In your new car?”

“’Course.”

“Make sure you have the right insurance, for your car—to go abroad, I mean.”

“Mummy, I work for a bank, they do insurance—it’s all been sorted.”

“Projector is ready, Jason has just arrived and is changing into a lounge suit.” Simon had returned. “Jason will run this thing. They know it was Cortez but they don’t know of your history with him, so just stick to the Menorca and aeroplane scenarios, okay?”

“Is that what Jason said?”

“Yes. The rest is sub judice, he’s to be tried for the offences so we have to avoid mention of them if we can to prevent his defence team suggesting any influence on the outcome of his trial.”

“Fine, I won’t say what a nasty little shit he is, then.” He scowled at me, I wasn’t going to say anything that could reduce the time he’d spend behind bars if I could possibly help it.

“Jason has asked some police to come just in case we have any unpleasantness.” When he saw my concerned expression, he added, “There shouldn’t be any but we know Cortez had some unsavoury friends, so it’s belt and braces stuff.”

“Will there be any firearms officers? I mean coppers with shooters?”

Simon simply shrugged. You all know what I think about guns, even in the hands of the forces of law and order. I tried not to think about it.

“When d’you get your new car?” I asked Sammi.

“Tonight, he’s bringing it round tonight.”

“You be careful, young lady.”

“I will, don’t you worry. It’s absolutely fabulous, Mummy. I can’t wait.”

I smiled my response, feeling concerned for her but glad that it was just what it was. Something like a Porsche 911 would have been even more dangerous. How they were going to get all their luggage in it remained to be seen, unless it had a rack on top of the boot like the old MGs and Jaguars did.

Somehow the sense of foreboding stayed with me, which I assumed was due to anxiety about the coming event. If we were talking about conservation or ecology or dormice, I’d happily deal with questions as long as they wanted to ask them. But talking about me, about my family and my encounters with Cortez—that was well outside my comfort zone. Next time I get attacked I’ll try and arrange it with a dormouse.

Jason arrived and he gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. “You look even more beautiful than you did a couple of hours ago, Cathy.”

“It’s not me who’s buying a second hand car.”

“Eh?”

“Cut the flannel, Jason.”

“Flannel—I’m deeply wounded by your scorn, dear lady. I was going to say that they can’t improve on perfection, but in your case they did.”

Simon stood impassive but Sammi smirked and I just blushed.

“Are you ready?” asked our legal eagle and we nodded. “To battle then.”

We were led to the ballroom via some small corridors which led to the back entrance to the stage. Moments later we were on the stage and taking up positions behind a table which had been placed at the front with microphones on it. The assembled press corps were asked to allow a sound man to check the mics. They were apparently working well. It was then I realised we were being filmed by the BBC.

The conference began with Jason reading a report of the events during the holiday in Menorca. He explained that the assaults, abductions, and attempted murder attacks were due to events which had begun before the holiday but which were now about to go to criminal court, so they were sub judice and therefore off limits. Any attempt to get us to discuss that element would result in the conference being closed down. He asked if that was clear and a muttered agreement came back.

He’d seen the pictures Trish had taken and agreed they could be used if we got any awkward questions. Jason was just about to allow the first question when a senior police officer walked up behind him and handed him a folded piece of paper. He opened it, read it and then showed it to Simon who cursed under his breath. Finally, he showed it to me. ‘Cortez has escaped from custody killing one officer and injuring another. We urge caution at all times until he is apprehended. Hants Constabulary.’

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2447 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Press conferences are nerve-racking things at the best of times, add the news that your own personal nightmare is at large and it was astonishing that my brain wasn’t in meltdown. I calmly texted Danni that Cortez had escaped and to warn everyone. Effectively to pull up the drawbridge and admit no one, except family members. Easy enough, you’d think, but that is where you’d be wrong.

Back to the press conference: contrary to Jason’s instructions, I was going to blow the lid on Cortez—expose his empire built upon the poverty of many and maintained by a gang of thugs to whom murder was a way of life. I started telling my story and Jason tried to stop me. “You can’t say this, it’s under investigation, there’s a court case pending.”

“They have to find him first. Given their efforts so far, I’m not holding my breath.”

“Cathy, you have to trust the legal system, if you don’t what else is there except the law of the jungle?”

Questions came thick and fast, we showed the photos of his assault on the young copper, his attempt to kill me and Simon’s subsequent rescue. “I wish I’d killed him,” he muttered under his breath and part of me agreed with him. So far we’d managed to turn the tables or escape him. Sooner or later that wouldn’t happen, or so the law of averages suggests if not dictates. If the only way I could prevent him killing me or mine was to reciprocate the threat, if only in my head, then that was what I would do. I was going to murder someone, albeit in self defence. I would pay Jim to track him down and euthanase him.

The decision left me feeling dirty and at the eventual end of the press conference when Jason took me to one side and began to berate me for embarrassing him, I stepped away from him and said through clenched teeth, “When you’ve seen what that man has done to poor people, when you’ve been threatened by him, when you’ve felt his hands around your throat and smelt his disgusting body so close to yours it made you want to vomit, then you can pass judgement on me. Until then, stuff it.” I strode away from him and back towards Simon and Sammi.

“What was all that about?” asked Simon.

“I gave him the facts of life, if he doesn’t like it we may need a new lawyer.”

“You did what?”

“I told him to climb off his pomposity and smell the coffee.”

“You did what?”

“Simon, you just said that—please take us home.”

“We’re supposed to be meeting Dad for lunch. Can you apologise to Jason then?”

“No I can’t.”

“We can’t afford to lose him.”

“It’ll be cheaper than losing me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.

“Simon, there is a lunatic at large who wishes to kill me and mine. I don’t know about you, but I am going home for a change of clothes and then I am going to organise my defences.”

“Call James.”

“I’ve already sent him a text.”

“Look, I’ll get home as soon as I can.” He went to kiss me and I turned away.

“I’d better get back to the bank,” said Sammi.

“Which bank?” I felt nervous for her, the sense of foreboding hadn’t left.

“I’ll go into the main Portsmouth branch now, I can work from there.”

“You could work from home.”

“It’s not as secure.”

“Take the afternoon off.”

“I can’t, Mummy, remember I’m going on holiday and need to have everything up to date before I go.”

“I wish you’d come home, darling. I’m worried for you.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll be all right.”

“Cameron, prepare to die.” Cortez suddenly appeared as we walked to reception. He raised his hand and Sammi tried to pull me out of the way. There was a bang and her body jolted and we both fell down. Police came running and Cortez disappeared.

I extricated myself from under her. She was in shock and blood was seeping from the wound under her right arm. There was blood frothing from her nose and mouth. She’d been hit in the lung. Her breathing was laboured. “I have to get back to work,” she said trying to rise but falling back into my arms.

“Lie still, darling, you’ve been shot.”

“Ambulance is on its way,” said a woman police officer. I thanked her and returned to trying to keep Sammi alive.

“Sorry, I messed your suit, Mummy.” She said as fell back unconscious and stopped breathing.

Simon ran up, “What’s happened?”

“What’s it look like?” I said as I began CPR.

“Oh shit.”

I tried pouring the blue light into her but somehow I couldn’t muster any, so I reverted to good old fashioned conventional medicine and began compressions of her chest. Sirens sounded and running footsteps and two paramedics appeared and quickly took over. Simon led me away while they worked on her, scissors slicing through the priceless garment as they attempted to plug the hole and restart her heart.

Sitting in the car following the ambulance I saw the blood on my own suit—it was probably ruined—not that it mattered too much, it was only cloth, it was replaceable, Sammi wasn’t.

I stared aimlessly out of the windscreen of the Jaguar, sitting in the seat she’d occupied a few hours earlier, now she was fighting for her life. “If she dies, I am personally going to kill Cortez.”

“Not if I get to him first,” said Simon, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. “Not if I get him first.”

We screamed into the A&E parking bay and Simon told me to go in, he’d park and come and find me. I did as he told me, walking almost in a dream blood splashed all down my front and my skirt bearing quite a large red mark.

“Are you all right?” asked someone in scrubs running to me.

“My daughter has been shot,” I remember saying before collapsing into their arms. I awoke some little while later. Simon was sitting next to me.

“How is Sammi,” I asked weakly.

“She’s critical but holding her own.”

“She’s a fighter.”

“Takes after her mum.”

“We don’t know her mum.”

“You, ya dipstick.”

“Some role model I am. Why am I here?”

“You’ve been shot as well.”

“What?” I almost called him a liar or a joker but the pain in my side tended to grab all my breath.

“You were hit in the side, mostly a flesh wound, they’ve got the bullet out and stitched it up. You were so worried about Sammi you didn’t realise you’d been shot yourself, did you?”

“No, no I didn’t.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“What?” I gasped, I’d been here six hours.

“Don’t worry, Jim’s friends are guarding the rest of the family.”

“I want Cortez dead.”

“I’ve already offered an obscene amount of money to Jim to take care of that.”

“What’s happening to us? We’re becoming as bad as him, aren’t we?” I said the tears running down my face.

“No, he does it to enhance his reputation for nastiness. What we’re doing is pest control.”

“I hope Sammi will be all right.”

“Trish is on the job.”

I smiled then drifted off into oblivion.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2448 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Episode 204 dozen for dodecaphiles.

When I woke, Simon had gone. Sitting next to me was Sammi. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see you to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“Yeah, I’m going.”

“Going where?”

“Wherever it is good girls go.”

This wasn’t making much sense to me, but then I was painkillers and drips and things, so why wasn’t she? “How’s the wound?”

“Stopped hurting now.”

“How’s that?”

“Dunno, do I?”

“Great painkiller, death.”

“Yeah.”

“Right, young woman, you are not dead—so get back in that body and start fighting for your life—NOW.”

“It’s too late.”

“Is it now? Well, I don’t care, just do as I say or I’ll never forgive you or myself.”

“Why? It’s...”

“Cut the chat and go back to your body.” Somehow I managed to pull down some of the blue stuff and threw it at her. She gasped, yelled in pain and disappeared. Not quite in a flash but almost. I lay back exhausted.

A little later I felt a hand shoved in mine. I opened my eyes and sitting beside me was Trish. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mummy, thought I’d come and give you a boost.”

“I think Sammi needs it more than I do.”

“Nah, she’s okay now. She had us worried for a bit, flat lined, you know but nothing I couldn’t handle.” Trish beamed at me. There’s nothing like the confidence of youth.

“So she’s out of danger?”

“Yeah, only got one drip now. If they hadn’t kicked me out, I’d have had her home by lunch.”

“I’m sure you would, sweetheart. Now, how did you get here?”

“Daddy brought me, he’s up talking to the doctor about Sam. I told him I could cover for her at the bank. We discuss computer stuff all the time, her an’ me.”

“Talking of computers, where’s my iPad?” I’d had it with me at the hotel.

“Um, they don’t bounce too well, Mummy. You dropped it when you got shot.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that.”

“They brought it round to us, it still had blood on it. I cleaned it up, but even I couldn’t get it to go. Daddy did ask about repairs but it’s better to buy a new one.”

Things were getting better by the moment, not. I honestly couldn’t remember having it with me at the shooting, perhaps I did. I must have done or Sammi could have I suppose. Oh well, too late now.

I pushed myself into a sitting position and had a burning sensation in my side. I eased down and realised I was sweating with the pain and effort. “You all right, Mummy?”

“Yeah, just a bit sore. Got a feeling I shouldn’t have done that.”

Trish pulled away the gown and looked at my wound. “It’s bleeding again, wait there I’ll get a nurse.” She disappeared before I could stop her.

I drew down some more light and pushed it into the wound. There was like a very cold sensation and then pain, then it stopped. I expressed my thanks and thought I heard a distant chuckle. Trish came flying in with a nurse.

“I’m okay.” I tried to stop her looking at my wound.

“Sure ye are,” said a lovely Irish brogue. “Now lay back and let your Auntie Brigid see to it.” I felt a pulling sensation as she removed the dressing. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she said leaning over me to look at my other side. “Would ya believe dat? Where’s the hole gone?”

“I’m usually a quick healer, perhaps you could discharge me?”

“Not until da doctor’s seen it.”

“I have a few things I need to do.”

“Doncha move, or you’ll answer to me, so ya will.”

“See, I healed it up for you, Mummy. I’m as good as you now.”

“Oh probably better, sweetheart. Now, can you see my clothes?”

“Daddy’s got a bag of stuff for you, shall I go and find him?”

“Call him first, see where he is, ask him to come down to me.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“This the lady, Mr Nicholls.”

“Why, Lady Cameron, you sampling hospital food again?”

“You know each other?”

“Oh we go back some way, isn’t that right, Cathy?”

“Yes, Ken. Now if you could just discharge me...”

“I heard it was a gunshot injury this time.”

“You know how they exaggerate these things, just a scratch I expect.”

He looked at his notes and then at my side. “I thought it didn’t work on you yourself?”

“Changed its mind I expect, you know, feminine energy and all that.”

He pressed here and there asking if it hurt and my answer was always negative. Then he checked my blood pressure. “There appears to be bugger all wrong with you, you can go home.”

“I did try to say...”

“Cathy, these photos don’t lie.” He showed me the file.

“Okay, so I heal quickly.”

“No normal person heals that quickly.”

“But I’m not normal, am I?”

“In what way? Oh the angel thing—perhaps you aren’t.”

“I can’t be, I’m an aristocrat, don’t ya know.”

He roared with laughter, “I’ll try and find Simon, tell him to get you out from under my feet.”

As he spoke so Simon appeared. “Hi, Babes, Ken.”

“Get this woman out of here, she’s blocking beds that sick people need.”

“I can take her home?”

“Yes, she’s doing me out of a bloody job.” We all laughed and Simon handed me a bag with jeans and a top, plus some casual shoes. I sighed with relief when I saw he’d included a bra and pair of knickers.

“Trish did a good job, then?”

“She thinks she did, bless her.”

“Oh, I left her up talking to Sammi.”

“She won’t do any harm and might do some good."

"She saved Sammi’s life earlier.”

“I’m sure she helped but I had Sammi down here.”

“In here—this room, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, babes, it’s not possible—she couldn’t go anywhere.”

“She wasn’t in a body, her spirit or soul or whatever you want to call it, came in to say goodbye. I suspect she’d just died.”

Simon stood there open mouthed. “She’d just died?”

“Yeah, I’ve dealt with it before.”

“But, she’d just died you said.”

“Yes, I sent her back to her body and told her she had to stay in it.”

“She was in it just now. She’s quite poorly, but improving.”

“Good, it nearly killed me to do it, then healing this thing—I need to get up to see her.”

We chatted while I dressed. A different nurse arrived with my discharge note which Simon took.

I thanked the nurses, Ken had been called to theatre, and we chatted as we walked up to Sammi’s ward. “Sorry about the iPad.”

“Yeah, so am I,” he offered.

“I’ll pay for a new one.”

“Why?”

“Because I broke it when I got shot. Sorry, but it was a bit unavoidable.”

He blushed. “Um, you didn’t drop it, babes.”

“So how did it get broken?”

“Um, I’m afraid I dropped it when I saw you both lying on the ground.”

“You dropped it? What were you doing with it?”

“I had it for the projector slide show, remember?”

“Oh...”

“I ordered a new one for you.”

“Thank you, darling.” I stopped him and kissed him in the hospital corridor.

“Get a room,” said someone walking past.

“Oh, I intend to, but not here,” I called back.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2449 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Trish was sitting next to Sammi’s bed, eating all the grapes Simon had taken her. “How come I didn’t get any grapes?” I complained.

“Those were yours, she ate one bag on the way here.” Trish grinned at us nodding at her father’s summary of events.

“Someone’s going to have a tummy ache later,” I said causing the smile to fade a little. “Nor any room for lunch.”

“Don’t care.”

“Well neither do I,” I said moving towards Sammi. “Hello, sweetheart, how d’you feel.”

“I’ve been better. They tell me my heart stopped for nearly ten minutes. Does that mean brain damage?”

I held my hand out to her and she touched it with hers, grimacing as she did so. “No, you’re fine.”

“How can you know?”

“Trust me.”

“I do implicitly.”

“Good.”

“Ooh, I feel sick,” declared Trish before throwing up in the washbasin.

“You can clean her up,” I instructed Simon, “as you allowed her eat all those grapes.”

“Oh god,” declared Simon going very pale and he too threw up in the sink.

“Excuse me,” I said to Sammi. I then grabbed Si and sat him in the chair before he passed out, then I collared Trish, who was looking as green as the grapes she’d been eating. She upchucked again only this time I held her over the sink and wiped her when she’d finished. A nurse hearing the noise looked in and gave me a disgusted look.

“Who’s going to clear up the mess?”

“I suppose I’ll have to.”

“You shouldn’t bring sick children into hospital.”

“She wasn’t sick until she ate all the grapes.”

“Well whose fault is that?”

“Let me see—the devil, because he told her to do it.”

“I think the blame may lay nearer to home than imaginary mythologies.”

“Quite right, but he’s temporarily handicapped by her illness.”

“Eh?”

“He passes out at the sight or smell of vomit, or poo,” I added.

“Wonderful,” she shook her head and walked off returning a moment later with some nitrile gloves and an orange bag. I thanked her and after pulling on the blue plastic gloves cleared the solid waste into the bag, washed the sink out and then dumped the gloves in the bag, which went into the clinical waste bag in Sammi’s room. Trish was sitting on a small stool looking sorry for herself.

I went and spoke with Sammi while the other two groaned quietly to themselves. “You know, Mummy, I had this weird dream while they were trying to get my heart going again.”

“Hardly surprising, given what’s going on in a brain which is suddenly starved of oxygen.”

“But I can recall it so clearly. I came to see you and you sent me away back to my body which started to recover. If you hadn’t done that, I’d be in the morgue now, wouldn’t I?”

“If it was a dream caused by anoxia or chemicals created by a distressed brain such as endorphins or enkephalins, then I suspect you were trying to deal with all that.”

“But I was gone for ten minutes.”

“So they say.”

“A nurse was here when I arrested.”

“So? In the excitement time would be distorted.”

“You think?”

“I know, been there done it. Look, you’re going to make a full recovery.”

“Am I?”

“Promise.”

“Thanks, Mummy.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Pulling me out of the way when Cortez fired.”

“Did I? I can’t remember.”

“I can and you did.”

“Does that make me a heroine?”

“In my book, definitely.”

“Oh wow.” She yawned and I dragged the two invalids out of the room while she went off to sleep. It meant I got to drive Simon’s F type coupe, which is a two plus two. They moaned all the way home and after we got there. Needless to say, they took to their beds instead of having lunch. Pity, they missed out on some delicious soup made by David.

“Any sign of James?” I asked Daddy, who’d decoded to stay at home in case Cortez showed up. Daddy’s shot gun wasn’t far from his side wherever he went in the house.

“He’s been here.”

“That it, he’s been here?”

“Aye.”

“You aren’t normally so taciturn.”

“I’m gettin’ tae auld for takin’ on gangsters.”

“D’you want us to go?”

“Och no, whit wid I dae on ma ain?”

“Live happily ever after in peace and quiet?”

“Nae I widnae. Ye’ve brocht yer problems but ye’ve also brocht yer love, and that wis worth it, ten times o’er. I’ve lived mair in thae past seven years that thae previous twenty, thanks tae ye.”

“As long as you think it’s worthwhile.”

“Aye it is.”

“And, you’ve been more of a father figure to me than my biological parent, for which I’m really grateful, and privileged to call you Daddy.”

“Aye, well put thon kettle on and make us a brew.”

While I was making the tea we were visited by a superintendent of police. He informed me that my house was guarded by two armed police officers twenty four seven. They were all firearms trained and nothing would get past them.

I ignored much of what he said because I was pretty sure we had two of Jim’s friends nearby, and I knew nothing would get past them at the same time they’d stay in the background and let the police deal with things unless they failed to cope in which case they’d take over. I hated to think what it was costing but at least it gave me some peace of mind.

The pompous but well meaning super of police left after drinking a cup of Earl Grey and eating one of David’s homemade biscuits. I said nothing about the two elite special forces men hiding in or near the garden in case he got funny about it. Some people do, apparently.

Whilst the police busied walking about outside making only the most desperate of hoodlums to want to try anything, the various mugs of tea and sandwiches I made and left by the backdoor always disappeared and came back a little later empty. I did leave a note asking if they wanted anything else to eat or drink but scribbled on the paper was the word, ‘no’ followed by ‘thank you’. The police also received drinks and snacks from us but I took them theirs so as not to encourage them to hang about by the back door.

The headmistress of the convent did call me the next morning to say they had a duty to inform me that my girls were missing their schooling. On asking if she preferred me to send the girls but only if she could undertake to have armed police patrolling the school while my girls were there; she told me she understood but still had the legal obligation to point out their absence to me. I thanked her for doing so and said the girls would be back as quickly as possible once we’d dealt with the threat posed to them.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2450 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Why can’t they give us all guns...” asked Danni.

“So you can shoot each other?”

“No the bad guys.”

“Have you ever seen someone shot?” I enquired of my newest daughter.

“Um—not really.” She went a lovely deep rose pink.

“It’s not very nice. Depending upon the type of gun, ammunition and where they hit the victim causes the outcome. If it’s a head shot, you could get bone and brain plus plenty of blood and CSF, all over the place, including on you if you’re close to them. If the head doesn’t stop the bullet you could be hit too, by something distorted which will knock an even bigger hole in you. If it’s a body shot...”

“I think I get the idea, Mummy, it isn’t good.”

“It’s actually very bad for all concerned.”

“You shot someone didn’t you?”

“I fired on a car load of terrorists with an AK47, or Kalashnikov, who were firing at us. I happened to hit something, they didn’t. They drove into a loch and drowned.”

“You saved everyone’s life.”

“No I didn’t, I killed four people.”

“But they were trying to kill you.”

“That doesn’t make what I did any more acceptable.”

“If you hadn’t they could have killed you and the others, including a policeman.”

“I am not proud of what I did.”

“Well I’m proud of you; you did what you had to. That’s pretty cool by my reckoning.”

“It isn’t in mine. Can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah, ’course.”

“When are you going to tidy that bedroom of yours?”

“Mum, we’re under siege from some bad-ass money lender, and you want me to tidy my bedroom?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s right with it?”

“Danielle, I know you had reservations about being a girl but you are and that means keeping your stuff clean and tidy.”

“Why does it?”

“Because women’s clothes are often easily dirtied or creased and girls are expected to look neat and tidy most of the time.”

“Hah, you should see half the girls in my class—they look like bag women.”

“I don’t care what they look like, they’re not my responsibility, you are. So until you’re able to exist separately in your own place, you will do as I tell you or we’ll send you away to school.”

“I’m not going to no boarding school.”

A thousand pounds a term and she still sounds like an Essex girl who lives ‘darn sarf.’

Simon decided he was going to live after all and came rushing down the stairs to tell me there were men with guns in the orchard.

“Yes I know, darling. They’re costing you a fortune.”

“They are? How’s that?”

“This isn’t cricket, darling, it’s slightly more important than that.”

“What are you on about?”

“The situation.”

“How’s that anything to do with cricket?”

“You keep saying, howzat. It’s an expression used in cricket.”

“Oh god,” he groaned and buried his face in his hands.”

“D’you feel ill again?”

“Only with your logic.”

“Is that a compliment or time to stop for a moment.”

“No it isn’t a compliment—it’s a bloody expression of annoyance.”

“No need to swear, dear.”

“You could make a saint swear.”

“My mother used to say that.”

“Doh,” he said and started banging his head on the cupboard. “Start again. Why are there men hiding in the orchard?”

“Are they carrying guns?”

“Probably—yes, they’re carrying guns.”

“They’re two of James’ friends.”

“On our side, do the police know?”

“I doubt it.”

“Shouldn’t we tell them?”

“Why?”

“In case they shoot each other?”

“The two, shall we say, free lancers, know of the police and are keeping out of their way. They’re here in case the police can’t cope.”

“In which case, shouldn’t we have extra police?”

“Then we would have people shooting each other.”

“Great. Are we paying for these two extras?”

“You are, yes.”

“Great. No wonder I have no money.”

“Simon, you’re one of the richest men on the planet, only Bill Gates, Putin and your dad have more.”

“Putin?”

“Yeah, the guy in Russia, head of organised crime at the Kremlin, the man who starts World War Three.”

“Oh that Putin.”

“Yeah, good ol’ Ras.”

“Thought his name was Vlad the impaler, Putin.”

“If you said that to him he’d be more put out than Putin.”

“Oh very funny. If this Cortez bloke sees armed plod everywhere won’t he just wait until they get bored and go home?”

“Quite possibly.”

“So when can I go back to work?”

“Anytime you decide life isn’t worth living, because he’s likely to be just behind you—Cortez, that is.”

“D’you honestly think that?”

“I hope you’ve made your will—in my favour, of course.”

“No, I left it to the cat.”

“I hope she’s got a good lawyer.”

“Jason.”

“Oh,” was all I said but I think my expression said it all.

“Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“No, why?” I blushed, the last thing I wanted to discuss was Jason making overtures to me.

“Fine, you know he fancies you like mad?”

“What? How can he, he knows my history and everything.”

“I don’t think he’s looking at the past somehow.”

“But surely that affects the present and thus the future?”

“Obviously not for everyone. Some people just accept what they see. Not everyone is as obsessed with their shortcomings like you are.”

“Oh thanks, Si; you certainly know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

“You are wanted—by everyone who knows you.”

“Especially, Mr Cortez.”

“I suspect his needs may be somewhat different.”

“I hope he’s just dying to meet me.”

“I hope he meets an armed copper or the fairies at the bottom of the orchard rather than you, babes.”

“I think we might have something in common.” I smiled, all he needed to say was something naff like, ‘You mean besides both starting off as boys,’ and I’d just fall apart.

“What time is visiting? I’d like to go and see Sammi.”

“You’ll need to clear it with PC Plod and Noddy.”

“Si, they might be less efficient than we’d like but they are out there risking their lives for us.”

“Yeah okay, point taken, but you still have to clear things with Noddy and Big Ears first.”

“Fine, I’ll go and speak to them.”

I set off down the drive using my hand to shade my eyes from the sun which is still shining most of the time. It’s been a brilliant summer. “Lady Cameron?” said one of the police.

“Sorry, I don’t know your names.”

“Mick and he’s, Ryan.”

I suppose I could have responded with permission to call me by my first name but decided to keep it fairly formal. This was a business arrangement not a social club, so if they got shot or I did, none of us would be as upset as we would knowing each other.

“I’d like to go and see my daughter who’s in hospital.”

“Sorry, no one is allowed to leave without an escort.”

“Just to go to the QA?”

“That’s our orders, and we don’t have enough manpower to escort you.”

“Okay, I’ll just go and phone your super.”

“Feel free, that’s what my orders are.”

I stormed back into the house in high dudgeon.

“What d’you mean I can’t go and see my daughter because there is no one available to escort me?” I ranted down the phone.

“I’m afraid it’s the truth, what with budget cuts and cuts to personnel. D’you realise we’re having to use women officers to do men’s work, either that or community support officers. We are seriously underfunded.”

“It’s because of your incompetence she’s in hospital in the first place.”

“What d’you mean, our incompetence?”

“You let Cortez escape after the Menorcan police caught him for you.”

“We didn’t let him escape, he killed one of our officers and badly hurt two others when his gang sprang him from our holding cells before transferring him to the remand unit at Parkhurst, Mrs Cameron. So that’s three more officers we’re short.”

“I assume there is no reason I can’t just get in my car and drive there, all by myself.”

“Uh yes, you’d be arrested.”

“For what?”

“You’re effectively in protective custody.”

“I’m what?”

“I think you heard me, Mrs Cameron.”

“This is preposterous, I’ll call my counsel and get this removed immediately.”

“We could take you into custody if you’d prefer it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; besides his thugs have already breached your security, we’d be like sitting ducks.”

“I’m trying to allow you to exercise your choice—as per modern policing, involve members of the public in making decisions.”

“Oh go and play with your handcuffs.” I felt like telling him to eat them, but that would abuse of police property.

“So?” asked Simon watching me from the doorway.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A few seconds, why?”

“We’re effectively under house arrest due to budget cuts.”

“Oh. We could go to Scotland.”

“To your castle?”

“Our castle, babes.”

“You can have the castle, just let me keep the villa in Menorca.”

“You really took to it, didn’t you?”

“Like an Anatidaean to H2O.”

“Something to water—a duck perhaps?”

“Well figured out; however I feel there is a risk we could become some of the sitting variety.”

“You could be right, babes, but what can we do about it?”

“I’m working on that.”

“Good, the computers all went down a few minutes ago. I’ll go and see if it’s working again. I do miss Sammi.”

“I hope she’s all right in that hospital.”

“Why shouldn’t she be?”

“What if she wasn’t shot by accident.”

“You mean he meant to kill her?”

“If he knows she’s our computer buff, he might be wanting to embarrass High St Banks, or be cooking up some sort of plan to swindle them.”

“I thought he was a small time loan shark.”

Si, he’s been abroad for some time, he’s learned some new tricks.”

“But cybercrime, I mean, even without Sammi our systems are pretty watertight.”

“The ones she devised or upgraded for you, you mean?”

He blushed and nodded. “She’s good.”

“No, Si, she’s very good.”

“Okay.”

“Well go and check your puter...”

“Yes, boss.” He disappeared and I went to make some tea.

“The internet is down,” he announced returning.

“Phones?” I asked.

“Rather dodo like,” he said after picking up a handset.

I tried dialling out on my mobile, nothing happened. “I think our small time crook just graduated to the big time. Get the children together.”

“Where?”

“Upstairs.” I rushed out to warn the two police officers and couldn’t see them. “Mick, Ryan?” I shouted but there was no reply. I ran back to the house even more quickly than I’d left it, slamming the door closed and bolting it.

Tom was sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and loading cartridges into his shotgun.

“What are you doing, Daddy?”

“Helping tae protect ma family.”

“Reinforcements will be here soon, I’m sure.”

“I dinnae think sae, hen.”

“We’ve got the two special forces guys out there, we’ll be okay.”

“Aye, weel jest in case, I’ll stay an’ cover yer arses. Gang an’ bide wi’ yer bairns.”

“You take care, Daddy.”

“Aye,” he put his arm round my waist. “The papers ye’ll need are all in my filing cabinet.”

“We won’t need them.”

“Aye, weel that’s okay then.”

I kissed him on the top of his head, “I love you, Daddy, and I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

“Aye, ye’re a real trouble maker, noo scoot.”

With tears in my eyes I dashed upstairs and into my bedroom. The DAB clock radio was off. They’d cut the power. I glanced outside, it would be dark in an hour. Opening my wardrobe I assembled my bow and belted the quiver of a dozen arrows around my waist. A compound bow is quite a useful weapon. Slow compared to modern firearms, but it’s quiet and has no muzzle flash. The weight of the bowstring is taken by two extra strings meaning it doesn’t tire you like an old fashioned bow. It also has telescopic sights and pretty accurate up to fifty yards. If Robin Hood had had one, there’d be no deer left in Sherwood forest. The sheriff would have needed more men as well. The bows they use in competition shooting these days are as close to a mediaeval long bow as a modern assault rifle is to a musket.

Simon and Jacquie had marshalled everyone together in the girls’ bedroom. I explained that they were to stay there if anything happened until the police or someone they knew came to get them. In the event of a fire they were to evacuate via the fire escape and to run to the orchard and hide. Simon bridled when I insisted he stay with the children.

“That’s your job, give me the bow.”

“You forget I’ve seen you shoot a bow.”

“But you’re better with children.”

“And a bow. If anything happens to me, you will remember me, won’t you?”

“How could I forget the most wonderful person I ever met?”

I pecked him on the cheek and told him to lock the door. After the various encounters with angry Siberians, we had the back and front doors reinforced with half inch sheet steel. We also got my study and the girls’ room doors modified—they’re almost bullet proof.

I checked the battery on my image intensifier, it was three quarters full. Time to play.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2452 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Taking up a vantage point on the veranda of my bedroom, I waited for darkness to fall. Looking to the orchard, there were no signs of anything moving bigger than a hedgehog. Had Cortez managed to neutralise the two commandos? It was possible but unlikely. Where were the police? They’d disappeared in a very short time and were they dead or captured? I could be pretty well on my own, so every arrow would have to count. These weren’t blunt target arrows, they had a short point in very hard steel designed to punch through bullet proof vests or flak jackets without a metal plate in them. They were the equivalent of armour piercing. If they hit you, it would be a deep wound which is obviously potentially lethal. That could mean legal consequences; but to be prosecuted, one has to be alive.

I surveyed the grounds of the house and nothing was moving, not even a mouse. Looking again I saw a cat strolling across the drive only for it to suddenly dart away as if something spooked it. There it was, a figure dressed in black moving in the shadows towards the house. Watching with one hand on the image intensifier and the other on my bow, pre loaded with an arrow, I followed the figure as it moved closer to me. With a pistol in its hand it was unlikely to be a soldier. From fifty feet I was just about to loose an arrow towards the target when the stalker was suddenly yanked almost silently into a doorway, the muffled sound of a blow and the body was gently dumped on the ground. It seemed like the hired help were earning their money.

I hid in my view point again and continued my survey. Nothing seemed to happen for ten or twenty minutes then my attention was taken by someone hissing to attract attention. It wasn’t mine, I was sure of that, so again I watched in the greeny eyepiece of the image intensifier as someone crept along by the garage and unseen by them someone waited in ambush. A few more yards and a bag was thrown over his head and he was taken down but not before he’d discharged a round from his pistol.

This must have been some sort of pre arranged signal because the next moment there were four of five men running up the drive with lights on their foreheads or hats, making them easy targets. Three or four seconds after they started their charge they all went sprawling as an unseen trip wire was pulled and they all fell over it. The two defenders fell upon them in an instant and they were clubbed or kicked into submission but not before someone had shouted, “Run, it’s a trap.”

I heard footsteps heading away from the house, and I abseiled down to the ground and ran to cut them off. I saw two men running about twenty feet ahead of me, their head lights making it easy to see. I’d had to toss the bow over my shoulder as I dropped to the ground, but I loaded it as I ran, not directly behind my prey but slightly parallel. I stopped and with shaking arms loosed an arrow. It missed by inches. “What was that?” asked one attacker.

“One of these,” I hissed as I shot another this time taking him in the shoulder, did he yell as he went down. His companion, turned and fired randomly towards me so I had to duck to keep safe. I bobbed up with another arrow in my bow but he was twenty yards further away and I began my pursuit again.

This time I had to follow the same route as he did. I dropped my pace to a walk, trying to see signs in the grass where he’d walked but I couldn’t. He’d moved into trees and obviously switched off his light. My image intensifier began to do funny things as the battery ran down and finally died. Great, just what I needed. My own fault, I should have checked it earlier.

I knew the woods fairly well but in the darkness they seemed different. It wasn’t totally dark, the countryside isn’t usually but our eyes aren’t best designed for nocturnal activity unless it’s between clean bedsheets with an attractive partner. Keeping my eyes closed for a few seconds enabled me to see enough to be able to continue my pursuit without walking into a tree. The problem was now I wasn’t sure which way he’d gone. There is a bit of a ditch with a stream in it but given the lack of rainfall recently, it would have been very low if bigger than a film of water at the bottom of the ditch.

Creeping along the path trying to hear anything which might betray my prey, I walked slowly and quietly, my bow ready to shoot another arrow at a moment’s notice. I moved carefully around an oak tree, and without any notice, the bow was knocked from my hands as a large hand gripped me round the neck and a gun was pushed against the underside of my jaw. “Lady Cameron, how nice of you to call, it’s saved me the bother of a visit to kill you and by the time they find your body, I’ll be on a plane. Don’t struggle, I don’t want your blood on my clothes, they cost too much.” He rammed the gun barrel into my throat making me cough and my eyes watered.

“On your knees bitch,” he spat and forced me down. With the gun in my face I couldn’t even try to grab his goolies. It really did look as if my luck had finally run out. “Open your mouth, this will be your final blow job, suck on the gun.” As he pushed it towards my mouth I grabbed at his hands and threw myself away from the gun.

There was a flash as the gun went off and he screamed in pain. “You fucking bitch, I’m gonna kill you. Where are you?”

I rolled against a log and lay dead still he fired once or twice but the shots were nowhere near me. I could see the arrow from my bow lying inches from me. Slowly and gently I reached out and felt my fingers round its shaft. Quietly, I pulled it towards me. Cortez was still ranting at me, so I assumed he’d been hurt when his gun went off in our struggle. I raised myself up slowly and as quietly as I could, he was blundering back towards me, swearing as he came.

My plan was simple, as he came close to strike him in the neck with the arrow and attempt to knock the gun from his hands before he shot me. He came within inches and I raised my hand to strike then I saw it. A red line of light ending in a dot on his forehead. I threw myself away as a single, muffled shot rang out but I still felt fluid of some sort spray on to me. A moment later he fell to his knees then slumped on his face.

“Stay still,” hissed a voice. Then a hand roughly grabbed me and a light flashed in my face. Pick up your bow and fuck off home—now.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“Go.”

I didn’t stop to argue, I legged it as quickly as I could stumbling over tree roots until I got to the garden and made my way towards the house.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2453 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I arrived at the back door and knocked on it, a voice from inside shouted, “I’ve a gun here, go away.” It would be just my luck to escape execution by a gangster only to be killed by my family as I returned home. Fate seems to have a wonderful sense of irony.

“It’s me, Daddy, it’s Cathy.”

“It’s no a trap?”

“No, just let me in, Daddy, Cortez is dead.”

I seemed ages before all the bolts were undrawn and locks undone and I noticed I was trembling. He wanted to know how I’d got out and why I had blood and brains splattered over me. I told him what I knew, which wasn’t much. In return he told me the lights had come back on but not the phones. As if to prove him wrong my mobile peeped. It was Jim.

“Is everyone all right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. The body has been removed, the prisoners removed including your injured one. Your arrow has been removed too. None of this ever happened.”

“But what do we tell the police?”

“Nothing.”

“What about the two officers we had here?”

“They were withdrawn.”

“A couple of hours earlier they wouldn’t allow me to visit Sammi.”

“Things change.” He certainly sounded as if he had.
“What will the police think if Cortez suddenly disappears?”

“He won’t, they’ll find his body when we want them to.”

“Won’t they implicate me?”

“No.”

“Will they try to implicate you and your friends?”

“No evidence.”

“What about the one I shot?”

“He’ll survive—we explained the facts of life to all of them. They could piss off into the sunset or join their boss on a morgue slab. Seems like none of them were that loyal after all.”

“But they could talk—to the police, I mean.”

“They think we are the police.”

“Oh.”

“Got to go, I’ll send the account to Simon.”

He was gone before I could ask any further questions. I went upstairs and showered bagged up the clothes I’d worn and burned them. The children were glad the threat was over. To be honest, so was I. Cortez was dead, killed by a single head shot. A marksman’s shot. He was taken out by a sniper. I wasn’t sure how good his sights were, so could he have shot me?

Understandably the girls were a bit scared when they went to bed. I told them that it had been a big mistake and we’d overreacted when the lights went out. It saved me asking them to keep any further secrets—children shouldn’t have to do that, keep secrets. I know I was lying to them and the older ones would know as well but I’d wait until they asked before I’d level with them.

In bed that night I felt glad I had Simon with me. I wasn’t scared exactly, more shocked at being so close to death again. I didn’t realise that in the heat of battle I felt more angry than scared, but now...now I felt shocked. Simon seemed to realise, especially when I told him what had happened and he held me tight all night.

The next morning, I awoke to find him emerging from the shower. “Did you know anything about all this beforehand?” I enquired.

“I knew the plan was to capture or eradicate him.”

“Were those Jim’s friends?”

“I have no idea, but when I knew they were camping in the orchard, I thought something was imminent.”

“Will you have to pay for all this?”

“I’ll have to stand a nice dinner to the Minister for Internal Security.”

“What about Jim?”

“He can buy his own.”

“But we have to pay him, right?”

“For keeping out of the way—probably.”

“What?”

“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this...”

“Perhaps you’d better not then.” I replied meaning the exact opposite.

“We’re too important to be killed.”

My response was to burst out laughing.

“It’s true. If someone managed to pop off one of us two things would happen.”

“Yeah, a post mortem and a funeral.”

“Very funny. If you’re going to mess about I won’t bother saying anything.”

“Okay, shoot.” I realised what I’d said after it left my gob.

“I think that’s in poor taste given we’re all in mourning for Mr Cortez.”

My puzzled look must have pushed his laughter button too hard because he fell on the bed roaring with laughter.

“You bastard,” I hissed slapping him.

“The look on your face, was priceless.”

I simply glared at him.

“As I was saying. A murder of one of the family could cause a run on the bank’s reserves and be bad news for the Bank of England, so we’d have to stop trading.”

“And the second?”

“It would cost the government billions in hours. Rather than having that happen, it’s cheaper to have such threats removed.”

“So that was the police last night?”

“Uh, not exactly.”

“It was an army unit, then?”

“Shall we say the Home Office dealt with it except of course there’ll be no records anywhere.”

“That was effectively an execution—they only wanted us as bait.”

“A bit like having a tethered goat to attract a rogue tiger.”

“That’s giving him a status he doesn’t deserve, rat would be more appropriate.”

“It’s all irrelevant now.”

“So why were you so irritated about not being able to go to work?” I challenged him.

“I didn’t know which day anything would happen and I had things I should have done.”

“You had me fooled.”

“I wasn’t trying to deceive you, I honestly had things to do and being stuck here prevented me from doing them.”

“But Cortez nearly killed me.”

“Only because you felt a need to play Batgirl or whatever. I kept telling you to stay here.” His remark made me blush, is that what he really thinks of me, my need to play Batgirl? If he tells me it’s a bit of my male upbringing, I’ll leave him. “You knew we had two professionals out there but had to interfere.”

I felt my eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.” I pushed past him and locked myself in the bathroom where I howled. He was still sitting on the bed, albeit now dressed.

“You’ll never be a disappointment to me, Cathy. You are the centre of my universe. I’m sorry if I sounded cross with you.”

“I half expected you to tell me I only do it because I’m really a boy.”

“I’ll never say that to you because I don’t believe you ever were one and I’m hurt you could even think that.”

“I’m sorry, perhaps I really am a disappointment,” I said before I dissolved into incoherence weeping copiously.

I felt his arms around me and he squeezed me tightly. “You’ll never disappoint me. This has been traumatic for all of us, especially you. Just let it go, if you can and know we all love you as the most wonderful wife and mother we’ll ever meet.” He squeezed me again and told me he really did have to go to work. Naturally, I cried myself to sleep and felt like a zombie when Trish came in to ask if they were going to school. It was one mad rush but they got there—no thanks to me. Sometimes I think being a wife and mother is harder than being a super-heroine—Batgirl indeed!

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2454 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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When I got home I was tempted to search for a Batman tee shirt on the net. I already had a Superman one which I’d last worn when tinkering with bikes. I wasn’t even sure which drawer it was in. After a cuppa which I gobbled down, I made another and sipped it, enjoying every drop. I had a quick glance at my diary. If I was still acting professor, I had a staff meeting the day after tomorrow. Great, just what I needed. Rather than call, I grabbed my iPad—I have one of the keyboard attachment things, threw a few more things into my brief case, told David where I was going, kissed Cate and Lizzie and left them to Jacquie’s tender mercies.

Delia was typing away at the computer on her desk as I entered, “Morning, Professor,” she sang out without looking up.

“How did you know it was me?”

“You’re the only one around here who wears Coco,” she replied indicating my choice of perfume.

“You obviously have a good sense of smell.”

“Not really, it’s my mum’s favourite—I got her some for Christmas last year.”

“I’m still impressed. It seems we have a staff meeting scheduled for the day after tomorrow.”

“You have interviews tomorrow.”

“I do?” I gasped.

“Yes, Prof, you’re interviewing for two posts, a senior lecturer to cover your old job. It’s a six month’s contract possibly extendable to a year, plus a junior lecturer, which is a staff post. Professor Agnew and I short listed for both posts, two of the candidates applied for both. The temporary post has two other candidates, the other has three, making four and five interviews respectively. I put the timetable and the applications plus CVs in the folder on your desk.”

I felt overwhelmed. I’d escaped all this for a month or so and wasn’t sure I wanted back into it. Thankfully, Delia was efficient and entered my office with a cup of tea as I started to wade through the applications and attached CVs. I hate interviewing, it feels like I’m sitting in judgement on those who are trying to impress me. I’m looking to see who will best fit into my team whilst hopefully providing something extra to the skill mix. I saw that I had two others to assist me Dr Isabel Newman and Dr Mike Fisher. Neither were from my department, she’s a molecular biologist seconded from Cambridge—her hubby’s in the Royal Navy: Mike is a freshwater biologist, who can enthuse about pond scum until the cows come home. Think me and dormice—he’s the same about algae and tadpoles.

“The Dean has invited you out for lunch.”

“I think my time would be better spent dealing with some of these letters, don’t you?”

“He said it was non-negotiable.”

“Looks like I’m going to lunch then.”

“It does, Prof.”

Having only just got used to being called doctor, being temporarily called professor or prof, feels strange. Part of me wants to be called Cathy but another feels I need to maintain some barriers with Delia. She’s a good secretary, but I’m several layers above her in the academic world and also the world at large. But I do like her, she seems very competent and enthusiastic. I’ve seen her dealing with people as well; she is very good as nothing seems to rattle her. Being quite volatile, her calmness might be useful.

“Delia?” I called her back as she was about leave.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Shut the door and sit here a moment.”

“Is there something wrong, Professor?”

“How much do you enjoy working here?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Did I say there was?”

She looked slightly flustered. “Uh—no, but...”

She wasn’t totally unflappable, good, she’s human. “You will be aware that I’m only here on a temporary basis, acting up while Professor Agnew is holding the fort as dean.”

“Yes.” She looked a little anxious. “Is my contract coming to an end?”

“I don’t know, because I don’t know how long I’ll be here myself.”

“Oh.” She paused, “It was suggested I’d be here until Christmas, is that still likely?”

“Probably, seeing as they have to fill the Dean’s post.”

“I see, but you’re not certain?”

“Not at the moment, I might glean some wisdom at lunch.”

“Thanks for being up front with me.”

“That wasn’t what I asked you to sit down for.”

“Oh?”

“I’m enjoying the way you work and I’d like you to stay on as long as I fill this chair. I can’t say how long that will be, but I’d like you be with me—someone has to know what they’re doing.” I smiled at her and she blushed.

“I like working with you too, Professor.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. Can you get me the Dean on the phone?”

“Of course.” She left my office and half a minute later I was put through to Tom.

“About this ’ere lunch...”

“Aye, wit aboot it?”

“I’d like to bring Delia with me.”

“Aye okay.”

“Will you collect me?”

“I’ve a meetin’ in a few minutes, see ye in an hoor.”

“Fine, see you then, Daddy.”

“Aye, alricht.”

I went out to Delia’s office and told her she was coming to lunch to celebrate our partnership. She blushed and thanked me. I then returned to my office and really vetted the candidates for the interviews the next day. The other two interviewers had got the same data, so hopefully we’d all be fully briefed. The job descriptions were quite interesting, especially the one for my cover. I had no recollection of ever having had one like it. I supposed they were just looking to have someone do the teaching sessions I used to do. Without wishing to blow my own trumpet, whoever follows me will have a tough job.

Tom collected us at quarter past twelve, although we went in my car, of which Delia approved. Tom seemed to think he could be stuck as acting Dean until Easter, he told me to expect two terms of acting Professor. I wasn’t exactly happy with the prospect, but it gave me some indication of how long we’d be offering the temporary post. Delia seemed really happy. I was beginning to think I could possibly use a secretary for the other things I did anyway, so depending upon how these two terms go, will decide if I offer the job to Delia.

He gave pointers for the staff meeting and the interviews. I had run both before but not here. Delia ended up taking notes on a sheet of paper the restaurant provided, so we didn’t forget them before we got back to the office.

We were just finishing our meals, the conversation had slowed down the consumption, the maitre de who’d apparently been out saw us and strolled over, “How nice to see you, Professor, Lady Cameron, young lady.” We replied in similarly friendly fashion.

“Lady Cameron? I thought your name was Watts?” Delia seemed confused.

“I teach using my maiden name.”

“But you’re a lady?”

“Glad you noticed.”

“No, I mean you have a title?”

“Yes, at present it’s only acting professor.”

“But he called you, Lady Cameron—that means you have a title.”

“Oh that, yeah, I got it for agreeing to marry Simon, it was part of the compensation package.” Tom was in mid swallow and nearly choked to death.

The Daily Dogmouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2455 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“I can’t believe I work for a titled woman,” said Delia as I drove us all back from the restaurant. Daddy was still cross that he’d snorted Guinness all over his suit from my throwaway remark. Remembering that he had quite an important meeting that afternoon he made me run him home so he could change. We drew up outside the house and Delia said, “You live here?”

“Yes, it’s only a house.”

“It’s twice the size of my parents and they have a three bed detached house.”

“We did have to make it bigger when the children came.”

“How many have you got?”

“Let’s see, there’s Sammi, Julie, Jacquie, Danielle, Trish, Livvie, Mima, Cate, with Phoebe and Lizzie the latest additions.”

“You have ten children?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t be older than twenty seven.”

“I’m thirty, but confess they were all adopted.”

“You adopted ten children?”

“No, it was eleven originally but one died from a brain haemorrhage.”

“Your husband must be very wealthy to afford to keep ten or eleven children.”

“The older ones support themselves.”

“You adopted older children?”

“Yes, Sammi is twenty two, Julie is twenty, Jacquie is twenty one, then Danni is thirteen, Trish and Livvie are nine, Mima is eight, Cate is four and Lizzie is coming up one.”

“How can you work all day with a one year old baby?”

“Jacquie is doing a distance learning degree, she babysits while I’m in work and in return, I pay for her degree.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Professor.”

“Well professors are allowed to be a bit eccentric.”

“Is Professor Agnew really your dad? I mean if your maiden name is Watts, why isn’t it Agnew?”

“He adopted me after my parents died.”

“But you didn’t change your name?”

“No, I was twenty two at the time and didn’t consider it was necessary.”

She sat there looking at me and the house, shaking her head every now and again. “Isn’t twenty two, too old to be adopted?”

“Probably, but he was so nice to me, more like a father than my biological one had been, and he told me I reminded him of his deceased daughter whose name was also, Catherine. She was killed years before by a drunk driver. His wife, who had MS died from a broken heart a year or two later.”

Tom emerged from the house. “Samantha is home, are ye no gang tae see her?”

I glanced at my watch, “Okay,” I stepped out of the car and invited Delia to accompany me. Sammi was seated in the kitchen talking with Jackie, while Cate sat on her lap and cuddled her. It was Cate who squealed, ‘Mummy’ and woke everyone up, making Delia shudder just a little.

I made the introductions and Sammi told me she felt so much better to be home. They’d been very nice at the hospital but home was better. She was going to do some work from home that afternoon if she felt up to it. I told her not to bother, the bank would survive another day without her.”

“I promised Daddy I’d try and do an update for their firewall.”

“You work for a bank?” Delia asked her.

“Yeah, Mum and Dad are directors.”

“Cameron—bank, jeez, that’s High Street, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, no big deal, someone’s got to own it.”

“But the Camerons are billionaires.”

“So—it’s only money,” said Sammi not realising that very few people could say that because they had such a good job or wealthy family.

“Yeah, only money,” she sighed.

I caught a small amount of he conversation but declined to get involved. Simon’s wealth had been a problem for me at one point, now I accepted because I couldn’t do anything about it. I stopped complaining about it once I realised how hard Si worked for his money and besides, he’d always had huge amounts in his family compared to most people, so it would be the exact opposite for him.

When Delia saw the photo of Stanebury Castle, looking like something from a fairy tale, part of me wished Danni were here to tell her all about it. I balked, feeling self conscious about the wealth that had created it earlier. I think I felt a degree of shame about it.

“Wow, my boss owns her own castle,” she repeated as she stumbled out to the car.

It’s nice to make an impression on people, especially a good one. I’m not entirely sure that opulence is necessarily a good one. I’ve become used to the material things around me including being able to do things ordinary people can’t—like chartering a private plane or helicopter if we need to. For most people that option isn’t available. At the same time I’m not materialistic, I do value things I have, like my bikes and the dormouse Si had made for me, but my children and the adults in the family are my most treasured things. I can’t say possessions because we can’t own another person, I’m not even sure we own animals, just have responsibility for their welfare.

“Do you stay at the castle every year?” Delia interrupted my reverie.

“Uh, sorry?”

“The castle, d’you stay there very often?”

“No, it’s cold and damp and costs a fortune to run. The last time I was there the daughter of an estate worker hanged herself over a dispute with her dad. It was very sad.”

“How awful.”

“It was, she’d become good friends with Danni and Danni was very upset about it.”

“What would make a young woman kill herself?”

“Lots of things including religious parents.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought that happened nowadays.”

“It does and it isn’t related to a single religion, all of them give instruction in tolerance but then practice very narrow forms where everything is criticized and retribution sudden and lethal.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2456 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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By the time we returned to the university the conversation had turned to more general things than, ‘my boss owns a bank,’ which was of some relief to me. I don’t do materialism, I’m a dormouse counter who’s probably promoted to the level of her incompetence. I was seated in my office, or I should say, Tom’s office, wondering how on earth I’d got there. It certainly wasn’t by ambition, though I’m sure both my parents would have approved, just as I would if any of my children achieved such a promotion. Having said that, it’s hardly Oxford or Cambridge, or even London, it’s a second rate establishment which until a few years ago used to be a polytec. Somehow, despite bigger and higher ranked universities, such as Southampton, which is just down the road, we got the mammal survey lead. I wrote the protocol for that so perhaps I’m not as stupid as I thought.

A fax arrived while I was in my act of self-denigration, something in which I really excel, and Delia popped it into me with a cuppa. It was about the continuing badger cull in Gloucestershire and Somerset. The general consensus was that it was both ineffective and expensive was shared by the scientific community and the world at large with the exception of the Conservative government and the Agribusiness lobby. I drafted a letter of complaint to the Environment Secretary copied to the Guardian and the Badger Trust. It appears since the cull started the increased illegal persecution of badgers has doubled according to the Trust.

According to the NFU, the farmer’s union, they condemned the death or cruelty to any animal or destruction of its habitat. Given that their members are every day removing hedgerows, clearing trees and spraying pesticides that kill bees and other useful creatures, they seem unable to see the irony of their statement.

I’m not trying to diminish the problem of bovine TB, it’s awful, and I do sympathise with dairy farmers who’ve built up herds only to have them decimated by the disease; at the same time the problem was caused by farmers through moving sick animals around and spread by them before badgers were involved. It’s also been demonstrated that vaccinating badgers is more cost effective than culling.

I went back to my staff meeting and interviews. These items either sent my heart rate soaring or sent me to sleep, however I did manage to organise a system for the interviews regarding questions and job descriptions. It was going to be strange interviewing for my own job.

At three, I went off to collect a car load of schoolgirls, who were like bottles of pop when I got there, freshly shaken bottles. Getting into the car they squabbled and pecked each other like angry starlings.

“Right,” I said loudly, “just what is going on?” in response all I got were silly giggles. I was now fast approaching blast off which of course made them giggle even more. I felt like murdering one of them as a warning to the others, but then couldn’t decide which one to kill first.

“Aren’t we going home?” asked Livvie noticing in between fits of giggles that the car was motionless.

“When someone explains what is going on,” I replied firmly which brought forth groans and more giggles. I never learn. Naturally, nothing was going on, it never is, thereby suggesting my children are sent into fits of hysterical laughter by nothing. No wonder women had had such a long way to travel to find equality with men. Men think we’re daft or immature. I think I might be beginning to understand why.

Eventually we got to the bottom of the hysteria. Some girl in the year above Trish and Livvie’s wet herself in class. The explanation sent them off again. I tried to suggest she might have a physical or emotional problem which caused it. They couldn’t seem to accept that. In their opinion she was either dirty or retarded.

“She might have had a urinary infection,” I suggested. They pooh-poohed that immediately. “Some other bladder problem,” was rejected equally quickly as was “being on her period.”

“Perhaps she’s stressed about something, that can make you wet yourself,” as I knew only too well. They refused to accept it as feasible even though each one had experienced such a problem. Once again I got angry at their intolerance of someone who is different, especially Trish, who should have known better.

In the end I did get them to think of reasons why someone might wet themselves but I wasn’t convinced they’d believe any of those things could happen to them but at least some sort of sanity had been achieved and I took them home before it disappeared again.

I asked Stella to explain why women got urinary infections then realised why I should have got the cat to do it instead. I was bored after five minutes, the girls lasted a bit longer and Stella longer still. Half an hour later and Stella was in full flow, a bit like a distended bladder—like mine felt at that moment and I had to rush off to the loo. The girls thought it hilarious. Somehow I didn’t seem to share their joke.

The next day I was tempted to go in jeans and a sweatshirt to show that I wasn’t impressed by beautiful people or expensive threads but Daddy’s scowl meant I had to go and change into something smarter. I had one suit less now due to it being soaked in blood when Sammi and I were shot and it just so happened it was that suit, the one Spike had peed on and I’d been wearing when the posters had been photographed. I had plenty of others so wore one with a blouse. The suit was grey with a very thin red pinstripe and I wore a red blouse with red shoes and bag.

The girls were effusive with their compliments and I had to point out I did dress up sometimes. When challenged to say when, I couldn’t remember. Sammi could and told me it was going to a director’s meeting at the bank. It sounded about right. Then Trish asked about the suit and it was obvious that everyone overlooked that occasion as being the time I’d last worn a suit. I suppose we can’t always see the most obvious things at times. It was certainly true for me.

Somehow, I got the four gigglers to school, assisted by Jacquie who is invaluable. I must up her allowance, she deserves it. Without her support I’d either have to employ someone or give up work. Neither seemed as such a good idea as the system we had now, although if her course demanded it, I’d have to give up work or go part time, which was what I thought I’d agreed to do before I found myself playing at nutty professors.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2457 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I suspect the only thing worse than attending a staff meeting is trying to chair it. If you’re not careful it descends into a grumble session, when I felt that was happening I’d throw it back to the complainant and ask them what they wanted to do about it. If they made a suggestion, providing it was feasible, I asked them to explore that option and got Delia to minute it. Surprisingly, the grumbles seemed to dry up after my second invitation to sort it.

The only good thing about the meeting was it made marking look attractive, however we did agree responsibilities for various duties and I explained we were interviewing the next day for the two posts we were short, given that some departments had vacancies frozen, my lot seemed grateful for small mercies. They also told me that it was my dormouse film that brought in the punters. Someone even asked after the harvest mouse film.

That was being put together. Alan had been ill, did I mention he had diabetes? Well unfortunately he has and that causes flare ups every so often. I have tried healing him but each time I get back the answer, ‘When he controls his input of calories better, he will be healed.’ Part of me thought that if he controlled the calories he’d probably cure himself. It was hoped the film would be available for Christmas, I still had to do some voiceover for the sound track and we’d have to shoot one or two bits of me standing in front of a green board and he’d be able to paint me onto various scenarios he’d filmed. They do it in films quite a bit.

Also, he’d managed to insert a fibre-optic camera into a nest and filmed the birth of a litter and the immediate after care by the mother. Someone told me there’d been pictures of dormice in the Guardian this week. I didn’t see them because Daddy tends to take the newspaper to work with him, despite me being the one who pays for it.

I spent the afternoon explaining how I did the mammal survey to someone who agreed to assist me. It’s hardly rocket science but he struggled with the concept of surveys. How could he call himself a biologist if he’d never helped with a survey? Then it was time to collect the girls.

I’d gone up to change out of my decent clothes into my playing clothes—the ones I don’t mind getting dinner on—when I was met with giggles coming from the kitchen and David blushed as I entered the room.

I let it pass assuming that something of a toiletry humour had been discussed and I grabbed a cuppa and after speaking to all of those present, decamped to my study to look over the CVs of the candidates for the interviews. I wondered if they were as nervous as I. I hate interviewing, it’s like sitting in judgement and a wrong remark or answer could prevent someone from getting the job they deserve.

Danni came in smirking. “What is going on out there?” I asked referring to the giggles.

“Oh, David’s making sausages.”

“Great, I love his own made ones compared to the muck they sell in supermarkets. What is so funny about sausages?” As soon as I said it I expected some reference to scatological matters.

“Nothing,” she said smirking and blushing simultaneously, showing she’d mastered the art of multitasking. Her guilty looks conveyed anything but the innocence she protested.

“Nothing, eh? So why are you blushing?”

“I’m not,” she declared glowing brighter by the second.

“No course not, you’re always bright red in the face, aren’t you?”

“I’m not am I?”

“You are and it isn’t sunburn.”

She glanced in the mirror and muttered something before she made an audible excuse and departed in unseemly haste. I finished my tea and returned to my task.

“Wotcha doin’?” asked Trish, this from a child it costs about five thousand a year to educate—obviously they don’t do grammar or pronunciation.

“Looking over some CVs, why?”

“Canniva look?”

“No, they’re confidential.”

“Oh, alright then.”

“What did you want?”

“That’s confidential,” she chuckled and made off. I suppose I asked for that but personal stuff should be protected from those who don’t have a legitimate reason to read it. By no stretch of the imagination could I justify showing any of them to her.

Ten minutes later, Livvie appeared. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Mummy.”

“And we’re having David’s homemade sausages, yummy.”

In response to my ordinary comment she burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I enquired suspecting it was all related to the dirty laughs I heard earlier.

“Oh just something Trish said.”

“And what would that be?”

She blushed but it looked like the lavatorial element was about to be revealed. “David was putting the skins on then and Trish said they looked like condones. I told her the word was condoms, and David said that’s what the skins were.” She blushed a much deeper shade of rose than before.

“And did you believe him?”

“Nah, they’d melt when you cooked ’em.”

“How d’you know that—about condoms?”

“They’re called rubbers in America, and rubber melts.”

“How d’you know what they call them in America?” I didn’t know such things at her age.

“Oh, I read it in Cosmo while waiting in the salon.”

“Julie and Phoebe’s salon?”

“Where else?” she said dismissively and skipped out of the room before I could say anything else. Part of me thought I might speak to David about it but in the end decided it was unnecessary and would only embarrass him, and he’s such a nice chap who I’d hate to lose.

I washed my hands and wandered down to the kitchen, it was six and getting dark. How sad to have the nights lengthen and the weather worsen. It seemed like the wonderful summer was now over with forecasts of wet and windy weather for the next month rubbing in the point.

Simon had just arrived and asked David to give him five minutes to change. He dashed upstairs and I ran behind him because I knew he’d just drop his clothes on the bed instead of hanging them up or ditching them in the laundry hamper. Just as I thought, he’d dumped his two thousand pound suit on the bed and his handmade shirt on the floor as he was pulling up his jeans. I hung his suit in the wardrobe and tutted.

“Oh don’t fuss, you sound like my nanny.”

“Nanny as in hired childcare?”

“Yeah, what other use is there?”

“Oh, some kids call their grandmothers nan or nanny.”

“Good lord, do they? I thought it was the dog’s name in Peter Pan.”

“That’s Nana.”

“Fancy calling one’s grandmamma after a dog.”

“Compared to some of the things you call other drivers, it’s all a bit tame.”

“How d’you know?”

“Little piggies have big ears and even bigger mouths—c’mon we’ll be late for dinner, and that just won’t do.”

“Yes, Nanny.”

One of these days...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2458 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Dinner was delicious, David had made lamb with mint and rosemary sausages, which we ate with creamed potato, carrots and garden peas. This was doused in a lamb and garlic gravy which tied everything in together beautifully.

Sadly it wasn’t a perfect meal because the girls had to start giggling and then Mima started to choke, which is what happens when you laugh with a mouthful of food. It was at this stage I lost it. “The next one of you who thinks condoms are funny, I’ll put on your head, then we’ll see what’s funny.”

It was entirely the wrong thing to say because they all fell about the table giggling and Simon, who I expected to support me, was laughing like a drain. I slammed my cutlery down on the table and stormed into my study locking the door after me. Ten minutes later there was a knocking on the door but I ignored it. I was still absolutely tamping and would likely have hit who was on the other side of the door. When I did eventually open the door there was a mug of lukewarm tea outside it.

I didn’t entirely waste my time sulking, I did thoroughly examine the CVs and felt I had a good idea of what they wanted me to know. On finishing I went to the kitchen where Jacquie was cleaning up. “Oh hullo, feel better?”

“Yes, thank you. Tea?”

“Please.”

I made us each a cup of tea and we sat down at the table. “Thanks for cleaning up.”

“It’s okay, you were working all day.”

“Yeah, running a staff meeting which was a cross between the chimps tea party and a spoilt five year old kid’s birthday party.”

“That good, eh?”

“Yep, and tomorrow I’m interviewing for two more posts.”

“So a five year old chimp would be perfect?”

“Yeah, I suppose it would, except that seems to be about the level of student we recruit these days.”

“That bad is it? I thought they were supposed to be better these days.”

“Better than what?”

“Um, a five year old chimp?”

“They’re laden with GCSEs and A-levels but they can’t read and write properly. They can’t spell ecology let alone explain what it’s about.”

“Oh.”

“Ecology, Doc, yeah like it’s about dormice like, innit? Some woman from ’ere like done a film abaht them, so iss abaht makin’ films a dormouses, like, innit?”

“They don’t talk like that, do they?”

“I kid you not, sometimes they’re covered in tattoos or piercings as well, or have purple hair in dreadlocks.”

Jacquie was sniggering.

“Financially, the only investments they have are in the precious metal embedded in various parts of their face or body.”

“You sound a little prejudiced, mother dear.”

“I am. I can almost see my mother standing in front of me and saying, “You are not getting your ears pierced until you’re at least sixteen, my girl.”

“Did she actually say that to you?”

“No, it’s more of what she’d have said had I been her daughter.”

“You are her daughter and she’s justly proud of you.”

I was about to challenge that when I looked up at Jacquie and she was looking beyond me, in a semi trance.

“She says they’re both sorry that they didn’t understand your gender identity problem but they can see how much happier you are as the girl you should have been. Your father did come to accept you, you know, and was proud of the way you presented yourself as a girl. He thought you were very pretty, but then you had me for a mother, so you should have been. I must go, we both love you and proud of the way you’ve adopted so many children, but I told you that you’d have a large family. Good bye, Catherine, keep us proud of you.”

I waved my hand in front of Jacquie’s face, she didn’t blink or move. “Your tea’s getting cold.”

“Uh what?” she said returning to her usual self.

“I said, your tea is getting cold.”

“Oh, oh—goodness, I felt really strange. I didn’t pass out did I?”

“You might have done for a few moments.”

“It was really weird seeing things through someone else’s eyes, you were quite a pretty girl, weren’t you?”

“You saw me?”

“Yeah, in your school uniform turning the waist-band of your skirt over to shorten it as soon as you met up with Siân. You had long hair and once you got to Siân’s house you undid your ponytail and put on mascara and eyeliner.”

“And you saw this?”

“Yes, it was really weird.”

That’s an understatement, kiddo, it never happened—well not until I had to do Lady M and Murray made me wear a dress for a few weeks and Siân encouraged me to push the envelope just a bit by loaning me her spare uniform and I’d got my ears pierced by then as well.

“I’ve never had that happen before,” she said, “I spoke to you didn’t I?”

“Yes, don’t you remember what you said?”

“Not really, all I remember was what I saw and how she had this huge sense of pride for you.”

I wondered if she’d lived would she have felt that or would she have lived in awe of my father and his rather black and white sense of what constituted male and female. I made some more tea and this time she drank it while it was hot.

“I’ve gone all goose pimply, what d’you think happened?”

“I don’t know, if I had any explanations they'd be verging on bizarre, so I think we’ll leave it at, don’t know.”

“You’re the scientist,” she said loudly enough for Daddy who was passing by to pop his head in.

“She’s no a scientist, ferr tae squeamish an’ disorganised.”

“That’s why you asked me to babysit your department, because I’m not a scientist?”

“Aye, ye’ll no mak too many changes.” He cackled loudly and went back under his stone.

“Well I think you’re a scientist, Mummy.”

“So does he, silly old goat,” I said the last part quite loudly which got a further cackle. “I’m not, however, a parapsychologist. I deal with facts and observations not dreams and other airy-fairy stuff.”

Jacquie chuckled, “She says you were always stubborn as a girl, you haven’t changed for the better.” She had a funny look in her eye again.

“Jacquie, she’s not there, she’s dead.”

“Tell that to Billie the next time you see her.”

“But I don’t see her, it only feels like I do because I miss her so much.”

“Uh—what?” She shook her head. “Sorry, I went off again, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay.”

“What happened?”

“I have no idea, but it feels as if you tuned into some imaginary memories that could be floating round my psyche.”

“Isn’t that as weird as seeing a ghost?”

“Absolutely. I did suggest that my alternatives were weird.”

“She felt so real.”

“She’s dead, Jacquie, let’s leave it at that.”

“Yeah, okay.Brrr, it’s gone colder in here.”

“The door is open and the weather is getting colder.”

“Yeah, if you say so,” is what her mouth said but I suspect she was thinking something very different. I know because I was thinking it too.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2459 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Neither Jacquie nor I mentioned her bout of apparent mediumship. If my mother had been there, it would have thrown my map of the universe into some chaos. As it was I was struggling to cope with the strange experiences I’d had with goddesses and the blue light, not to mention the seemingly regular appearances of my deceased daughter.

We know that when your body is dead the brain dies very quickly and once that’s gone so have you as a personality. There is no survival after death in some form of afterlife, or no irrefutable evidence for it, so we currently have to accept the probability for the Elysium Fields or Paradise, Heaven, Valhalla or any other name purporting to be where souls went to spend eternity, is as close to zero as it can get. I mean, what would be the purpose? Being in the presence of whatever deity you worship—is that it? At least the Buddhists are green in recycling souls as reincarnation, all the others seem pointless, but then so is religion, unless you include the exploitation of the masses by a minority in fancy dress using superstitious fear as the controlling mechanism.

I mean did a lightning bolt that killed a group of tribal elders in their spiritual hut in Columbia, show god scoring an own goal? I doubt it but then I doubt the existence of any god unless of course, this was Zeus zapping some unbelievers or anyone else who’d peed him off. My little brain had had enough of trying to understand what was happening around me. I didn’t understand how slime balls like Cortez aren’t put away by the system simply for usury, which is illegal in this country. When the interest rate is less than one per cent how can these grabbers justify hundreds or more per cent? It’s iniquitous but then so was selling off public housing stocks without allowing the local authorities to use the money to replace them. No wonder we have a housing crisis, which was caused by Margaret Thatcher and her need to be accepted by the upper classes, which they never did. Despite the peerage, she lived and died a pleb, not the patrician she so wanted to be.

I went to sleep imagining I was interviewing Maggie Thatcher for a job, pity I couldn’t remember what happened, it would have proved quite interesting. However, I awoke feeling anything but enthusiasm for my day in work and the appointment of two people in posts on my staff. That was scary stuff. I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower before the alarm went off. It was still dark—no wonder—when I returned to the bedroom I discovered it was only five o’clock. I heard the door close on a car and the throaty roar of Simon’s Jaguar sounded from the drive. He’d left early, must have a meeting first thing or something.

At least I had time to sort myself out, drying my hair, shaving my legs that sort of thing. I dressed and breakfasted before waking the girls. It’s remarkable that as a boy, Danny was awful to dig out of bed unless he was playing football. Nowadays, as a girl she’s up and showered, does her own hair and makeup and is down as quickly as her younger sisters who squabble over hairbrushes and ribbons or who gets the use of the shower first.

I pulled on a pinafore and got Lizzie up, feeding her on a bottle, then some solid stuff from the local supermarket. It was supposed to be some sort of fruit in yoghurt but looked like flies which had drowned in vomit. She had no such illusions and gobbled it down like it was going out of fashion. Jacquie was last down, which was unusual but I was glad I’d been able to help her with the little ones. Trish got some cereal for Cate, which the latter swallowed like a plughole. She then gave out a huge burp, which got the others giggling despite my attempts to stop it.

“You look nice today, Mummy,” offered Julie before setting off for her salon. I thanked her and we had an air kiss so as not to spoil our makeup and I supposed I did look all right. I had on the navy blue suit with a white silk blouse and navy shoes. I usually wore it to funerals but decided I’d give it a whirl today. The straight skirt tended to emphasise my fat arse and hips but providing I kept the jacket on, that helped disguise the fact.

The interviews were scheduled to start at ten, it wasn’t quite nine. I looked at the notes I’d made from the CVs to remind myself about what I’d thought about each, good and bad points. One couldn’t spell ecology, but that might have been nerves in filling in the application form.

On the back of the form we invite them to say why they consider themselves suitable for the job, and or, what would they do if they got the job regarding innovative ideas in teaching biology/ ecology. Several had written short essays, some of which were interesting and some showed no idea of the budgetary constraints we currently have to endure.

At half-past nine, Isabel and Mike arrived and we had a coffee before wending our way to the interview room. We were using one of the tutorial rooms with a waiting area outside. Three of the candidates were already there and Delia was flitting about like a butterfly checking various bits and pieces. We were within sight of her desk and my office and I did think about using the latter for the job but then decided against it because the books on the shelves and my mounted skeleton of a dormouse also on the shelf, could prove a distraction.

We, three interviewers, had quickly run through the roles we’d play. As acting professor, I was going to sit in the middle and we’d interview across a coffee table. Delia was going to bring us in coffee at eleven. Each interview would last approximately half an hour, longer if the applicant had questions. We’d break for lunch at twelve having seen the four for my old job, then start again at one. I’d arranged for food to be brought in for us—a buffet type meal, from the university refectory, usually they’re quite good. The candidates were given a pass to get a free meal which would be billed to my department. Given that some weren’t actually employed meant that we did try to minimise their costs and refund travel costs, which is standard practice in the UK. For the temporary cover for my job, we would consider leasing a student flat for the six months, for the other post we’d assist moving house and so on.

We checked our notes and timetables and agreed that the other two interviewers would take it, in turn, to call in the condemned and show them out. This was going to be so much fun—not. At exactly ten o’clock we commenced the torture and Isabel called in the first interviewee.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2460 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Have I said I don’t like interviews watching people turn themselves inside out and you try to guide them to the hoops through which they must jump. They all had suitable degrees to teach the subjects. I think they should all have been equally able to do the job, we just wanted the best one who fitted in the rest of my team.

We introduced ourselves and then before they could say much in reply, I handed each one the skull of a badger and asked them to teach me about it. They had no time to prepare, they were shown out of a different door to the one they’d entered so they couldn’t share information with anyone else. It was entirely possible that they wouldn’t identify it as a named species, but there are several things that should suggest the lifestyle of the original owner. There’s a sagittal crest running lengthways along the skull showing it has a powerful bite. It’s said a badger could bite the face off a dog. It has canines, showing it at least occasionally eats meat, but its molars mean it can handle other stuff too—the European badger is an omnivore.

One of the male candidates guessed what it was and instead of describing what he could see, he went on about badgers. I wasn’t impressed as he was building on something which he didn’t know was fact, a supposition not a deduction. One of the women did a far better ad hoc not being sure what the animal was, she just described what she saw and it was spontaneous, based upon her observation of the bone . It was head and shoulders above the others. The other questions were more of the anticipated sort, what would she do, how would she do it, why would she do it.

We’d each made notes which we discussed over our buffet lunch about who was the better candidate and we decided that the woman should have the job, albeit a temporary one, if she preferred it to the permanent but lower paid post assuming she came tops for that.

After lunch we began round two and interviewed for the junior lecturer’s post, this time I showed them a photograph of a reproductive cell undergoing meiosis, which is involved in sexual reproduction effectively producing haploid cells, which means they have only half the chromosomes of normal cells but that is resolved when they meet with either a sperm or egg from the opposite sex and fertilisation is achieved. The two haploid cells combine to form a whole which is then diploid again, unless something goes wrong. This will eventually grow to form the offspring of the two donor parents.

As in the first group after introductions I handed the candidate the photo and asked them to describe what was going on in the picture as if they were teaching it to a class.

Okay, it’s not rocket science, it’s A-level or below, but one of them recognised it as mitosis, which is generalised cell division, which it wasn’t. I gave them a chance to change their mind but they stuck with it and gave a lovely description straight from a textbook about something that wasn’t happening. Their presentation skills were very good, their biology was not. The reason for what we were doing was in the first year they do a refresher of basic biology for a term—effectively the A-level syllabus or highlights of. We do this to make sure everyone has at least a basic understanding of the principles of biological science.

The rest of the candidates got it right and although their presentation skills varied, our first candidate of choice did well again. I now wanted her on my team whatever job she chose. The others agreed she was best by far, we then selected a runner up for each post. We told them to leave a phone number preferably a mobile and that we would let them know one way or another if they were successful.

Delia arrived bearing afternoon teas with plain chocolate Hob Nobs, I asked her to text the first choice asking her call me. I was in mid slurp of tea when my phone rang. It was Jenna Clark, the favoured candidate.

“Hello, Jenna, if I were to offer you one of these two posts, which would you prefer it was?”

“I don’t mind, Professor, I’d be delighted to be offered either.”

“The one is fixed term, the other is permanent, does that help?”

“I need the money, so I’d probably opt for the longer term job.”

“It’s yours. Delia will be in touch with a letter of confirmation. There’ll be the usual formalities to deal with by our personnel department, but I look forward to you starting in the new year.”

“That’s wonderful, Professor, as I told you, I came back after having a baby at my previous university, but they weren’t as helpful as they might have been and your people have been so good. When I saw you in the video you did for students, I knew I wanted to work with you, I’ve been five years at the old place and I wasn’t going anywhere. I know it’s a bottom grade post but you offered a chance to be involved in planning the syllabus for first year students and that is something I really fancy.”

“As soon as we have a written acceptance, I’ll get Delia to send you the current syllabus—I’d like your opinion on it.”

“Brilliant, I wish I could start next week.”

“So do I, but you have commitments to your existing ivory tower, you’d better honour them, but let us know if you need any help with anything.”

“That’s wonderful, thank you so much.” I rang off and told Delia to go for the runner up for the senior post. The conversation was similar. Another woman, Helen Hunter, accepted the short term contract and could start in a month’s time. She again said she’d wanted to work with me after seeing my dormouse film and learning how I’d introduced ecological ideas and practice into High St Banks. I didn’t tell her my pa in law was the chairman—it helps.

I was a little late going for the children due to the phone calls. I had warned them I might be delayed and as expected they grumbled until I invited them to walk home if they didn’t want to wait. They decided upon reflection, waiting was okay after all.

When I got there they were with Sister Maria and involved in some animated discussion. It was about the nativity play, I’m not sure if she saw me wince but she said, “I hear you once played the Blessed Virgin Mary in school, is there no limit to your talents?”

“Who told you that?” I gasped and wondered how they found out. Then I remembered the photo in Mr Whitehead’s book, though how he found one I’ll never know.

“We wondered if you’d care to share your expertise and experience with us for this year’s dramatic event of the term?”

“I really can’t, headmistress, I’m just so busy at the moment.”

“Mummy’s a professor, did you know?” asked Livvie.

“No I didn’t, congratulations.”

“Thank you but it’s only a temporary measure.”

“But your talent is being recognised, so congratulations Professor Cameron.”

“It’s Watts, she uses her maiden name professionally,” chided Trish and I blushed nearly as deeply as Maria did.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2461 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“You embawassed Mummy,” Mima accused her sister.

“Well I didn’t mean to, but dopey drawers ought to know by now she uses her maiden name.”

“Who is dopey drawers?” I asked knowing full well who it was.

“It’s um what they call the headmistress.”

“And who are they?”

Blushing furiously, Trish looked at her shoes and offered, “The um, older girls.”

“I’ve never heard it before,” declared Danni dropping her sister deeper into the mire.

“She just made it up,” added Livvie.

“No I didn’t,” Trish said before fleeing from the car into the house and presumably up to her bedroom.

So much for sororial loyalty; I’m no great expert being an only child, but I’d hoped someone would have supported her instead of circling like sharks waiting to attack. Fortunately, David was in the kitchen and he offered the girls a drink and a small snack whilst I went upstairs to see where Trish was. She wasn’t on her bed nor in my room.

I called her but there was no response. I checked all the bedrooms, she wasn’t in any unless she had borrowed Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility, because I couldn’t see her, I even checked my wardrobe—she just wasn’t there.

I started downstairs, the lounge nor dining room were absent of Trishes. She hadn’t appeared in the kitchen either, so after checking my study I looked in the conservatory. She was in there with Bramble on her lap and Kikki sitting at her feet. She hadn’t noticed my approach.

“It’snot fair, Brambs, they always pick on me because I’m cleverer than all of them put together,” she complained to her audience. I was mildly surprised at at the dog staying when there was more chance of dropped food in a bigger group of kids. As if reading my mind the dog upped and walked out of the conservatory towards the children. Trish hadn’t noticed or cared about her absence as she continued to stroke the cat and grumble to her.

Suddenly she pulled her hand back, sucked or licked her hand and was about to kick the cat when I made my presence felt. “Don’t you dare kick Bramble,” I said loudly enough for her to jump and swear at her instead, denying she was going to hurt her. She had a nasty scratch on her hand so I suspect might have done something first because Bramble is normally a very placid animal.

“She scrammed me,” complained Trish accusing the cat of having turned against her, as well as the rest of the known world.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothin’, stupid cat.”

“Usually, she’s your best friend.”

“Yeah, well not anymore. You stupid cat.” The cat sat looking at her trying to work out how her favourite human had turned on her, perhaps. Who knows what goes on in a cat’s mind except possibly John Bradshaw who studies them at Bristol University. I must email him again for a list of prey species his farm cats have brought home. I had a copy of his book on cat behaviour, must get round to reading it. Recently, someone was on the radio suggesting dogs were domesticated while cats were still wild animals at heart. I assumed that was probably based upon intelligence, cats being brighter than dogs, though I’m not sure how you compare different species. As far as I know neither have written any great works of literature, nor composed a musical masterpiece nor painted anything as beautiful as Monet or Turner. Mind you, that might just be my ignorance showing, as I used to think if cats could work can openers, humans would be irrelevant.

While I was musing upon the intellectual achievements of felines, Trish had vacated the conservatory and I assumed gone to the kitchen. Bramble wrapped her tail round my legs and I leant down and stroked it. She purred then trotted off to the kitchen as well. I went upstairs and changed into my playing clothes and while David sorted the dinner, and the girls their homework, I slipped out to my workshop and fiddled with the wheels I started building months ago. It was bliss not to be at anyone’s beck and call for half an hour. Sometimes I wondered about being a parent and my suitability for the job.

I stopped my wheel building for a moment. I was always questioning myself as being suitable for this and that, or up to scratch or standard; or even about what I believed in, if anything apart from St Attenborough and the Blessed Brian (Cox), who were both atheists and probably had larger brains than I. But then is it right to believe something just because someone you regard as cleverer, does? I suspect Rowan Williams has a brain the size of a planet, yet he believes in some sort of god. Perhaps he isn’t that clever after all, or perhaps it’s me who isn’t too bright and missed something he’s seen.

Actually, I suspect that believing isn’t an intellectual thing, more an emotional one, and that Dr Williams, the ex archbishop, has had some sort of mystical experience he attributes to his god.

“Cathy, you in there?” Simon’s voice sounded outside my workshop.

“Yes, the door isn’t locked.”

“What’re you doing out here, it’s getting cold.”

With a couple of spokes in my hand and standing at a wheel jig, I’d have thought it was pretty obvious what I was doing. I had a fleece jacket on and only my hands were cold. “I didn’t hear you drive in.”

“Too busy playing with your wheels, I expect.”

“Don’t I get a kiss?” I asked.

“You might if you come out from behind that thing, I don’t want oil on my suit.”

The wheel wasn’t oily and had a sealed hub, so he was more at risk touching the bikes as they had oiled chains and the Scott was on the workshop stand. “Come away from the bikes then,” I suggested as he just avoided wiping his sleeve against the chain rings.

“What’re you doing out here, anyway?”

“De-stressing, nothing like building wheels to do that.”

“I don’t know, I suspect I’d get very stressed trying to remember how the spokes went in.”

We embraced and kissed and for a moment I forgot all about, dogs and cats and children, even bike wheels and was truly in the moment. “Forget dinner, let’s go to bed,” he suggested.

“I don’t want nine year olds criticising my technique.”

“Eh?” he said breaking off the hug.

“My sex—forget it, let’s get some dinner.”

“Why is it that men eat more but can overlook food for sex, whereas women can’t?”

Who says we can’t, we just choose not to, a bit like dogs and cats I suppose. I locked the workshop and linking my arm through his walked over to the house and back to motherhood.