The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2501 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Mrs Cameron, this is Mike Butcher,” Danni was practically jumping up and down with excitement, I was trying to stop myself falling over as the complications began to multiply in my head and reverberate in my large intestine.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Butcher.” I took his proffered hand and squeezed his fingers—a real girly handshake. I hope my hand wasn’t too sweaty.

“I’ve just watched Danielle in action and I’d like to have her come to a training camp for a weekend.”

“Where and when?” I wondered if we could still get out of this without Danni feeling too disappointed.

“During the Christmas holidays, probably in Town, not sure of the venue yet, might be Highbury or even Saracen’s stadium. We’ll get some details from the club and drop you a note. She’ll need to bring a few things.”

“Kit to play in for two days and we’ll need her to submit to a medical if we go to stage two.” Danni was still so excited she wasn’t really listening, but I was and I wasn’t sure what to do.

“What happens at this training camp?”

“We check out their basic skills, hand eye coordination, balance, ability to kick with either foot, heading ability. Then we see how fast they can run. Finally, after discussion with the other coaches and the girl herself, we try playing them in the positions we think would suit their game best. We give them a game plan and they play a few short games, possibly in different positions. If we think they have potential, we do the medical and they then go on a training rota. They come to us once a month and if they live up to their potential, they might get to wear an England shirt, on the bench for a few games—just to get the feel of being on the squad—and we might use them as subs, so they’d get a cap for that.”

“So you think little Danni could be good enough to play for England?”

“She could, but I need to assess her more with colleagues.”

I gave him one of my cards. “You’re a doctor?”

“I’m a biologist.”

“She’s a professor, aren’t you, Mummy?”

“I’m impressed, most of the professors I’ve seen were old men with more hair on their chins than their heads. I’ve never met one as lovely as you before, let alone as young. You don’t look old enough to have a teenage daughter.”

“Mr Butcher, thank you for your flattering assessment, I hope you’re better with football talent.”

He blushed and smiled. “I’m good at both, Professor. If she’s inherited your brains as well as your looks, she’s going to be quite an asset to the side.”

“I thought she was being assessed for her footballing skills.”

“She is, but it doesn’t go amiss for us to have some feminine looking girls as well as the less attractive ones. It attracts boys to come and watch us and it encourages girls who might think football is tomboys.”

“My sister Trish is good too, isn’t she, Mummy?”

“You have another daughter?”

“Yes,” I glared at Danni who seemed oblivious to what she was doing. “But she’s only nine, so too young for your squads.”

“At the moment, yes, but in three or four years, who knows?”

“Quite.”

“She might be at Oxford then,” Danni continued offering unnecessary information—no wonder social media is considered paedophile heaven.

“What the football club?” asked our soccer scout.

“No, the university,” chuckled Danni, “She’s got a brain like a planet.”

“She’s precocious?” he checked.

“Just a little,” I admitted wishing Danni would become mute.

“Oh come on, Mummy, she helped me win that game the other week.”

I wondered if anyone would notice if I knocked her out?

“She helped you win the game—a nine year old?”

“Yeah, she calculated wind speeds and resistance of the grass and told us to play long balls but to stay inside the half so we weren’t offside. Once I’d scored a couple o’ times they marked me which let one of the other girls through. We won three nil.”

“She calculated wind speed...?”

“Danielle, don’t exaggerate. She spotted the wind was freshening from the one end.”

“But could see the potential for the long or through ball—maybe I should meet this pocket sized genius.”

“I don’t think so, Mr Butcher, not until she’s a bit older.” I glared at Danni, who this time began to cotton on. It was another ten minutes before she could go and shower and I could take her home, by which time I was feeling quite sick.

“Cor, Mummy, I could become an England player.” She was so excited.

“Don’t count your chickens, young lady.”

“Yeah, I know, I might not be good enough.”

“I suspect that isn’t the only reason.”

“It should be decided on ability, Mummy.”

“There is the little matter of a medical, as well.”

“Oh poo, why does that always get in the way, so that’s it then?” She went quiet and I watched the tears drip off her face. “’Snot fair,” she said and sobbed some more.

“Before we consider this was just a fantasy, we need to get some advice.”

“It’s no good, they won’t want a boy in their team.”

“They won’t have a boy on their team.”

“Yeah, ’cos they’ll drop me like a stone.”

“No, because the law says you’re a girl or as good as.”

“You’re joking.”

“Like I said we need to get some advice. In some sports if you’ve been on hormones for six months or more you’re seen as having no advantage over a biological female because you’d have the same sort of musculature. That you’re post operative, means you’ve not had much testosterone in your body for months. We need to see what the rules say and see if we can bend them a little if necessary.”

“How you gonna do that?”

“I’m not, but I know a man who might. It won’t guarantee anything but a chance to show how good you are.”

“Is it worth it, Mummy?”

“Would you like to wear an England cap?”

“More than anything.”

“Okay, I’m not promising anything, but it might just be possible if you’re good enough.”

“How do I know if I am?”

“You play to the best of your ability and keep your training schedule up to scratch.”

“What about being a boy?”

“You could try to get into a boy’s team but I doubt you’d manage it.”

“No—me being a boy.”

“Danielle, you’re not a boy—unless that’s what you want to be.”

“I’d rather play for England as a girl than just be a boy, Mummy.”

“Okay, let’s get some dinner and I’ll make some phone calls.”

I wasn’t really that hungry and I suspect Danni felt even less like eating than I did. David had done a chicken casserole with rice. I dished us up a couple of platefuls and Simon who was hovering in the background asked if we’d had enough before tipping the remainder of the rice into the casserole and eating from the dish with a spoon despite my disapproving looks. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, just like my two lovely girls,” he chuckled making Danni smirk.

“So what happened to make you charge out of the house like it was on fire?”

“It was Danni’s football training and we forgot.”

“And?”

“That’s it—you were late for football training?”

“Yeah,” we both said but Danni couldn’t keep her face deadpan.

“Okay, what aren’t you telling me?”

I shrugged but Danni added, “They had an England scout there, they want to assess me at a training camp.” Simon nearly choked on his casserole, pity it wasn’t a pudding, I could have said, ‘He’d got his just desserts.’ Oops, I suppose he might just have inhaled a bit of rice—he won’t learn from it, just like Kiki, greed is not a good habit.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2502 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“They’ve told her they’re going to send her to a training camp to see if she’s good enough to play for England?”

“That’s what the man said.”

“Goodness, our little girl in an England jersey.”

“Before you have her replacing Wayne Rooney, there is the little matter of her being transgendered and a medical.”

“A medical what?”

“What?”

“You said she was transgendered and a medical. I asked medical what?”

“If we don’t declare it, they’ll pick it up at a medical.”

“Why?”

“If they do blood tests.”

“Only if they test for sex chromosomes.”

“I have no idea what they test for, but they could for all I know.”

“But she looks as female as any other thirteen year old.”

“Her hips and breasts are probably slightly smaller but within the realms of normal. What were you thinking?”

“Why don’t we just let her attend the camp and if they want her to have a medical we can tell them before or after. If they don’t pick up on it—well perhaps we stay shtum.”

“And then it will hit the air conditioning and she could get very hurt. There will be others who know her history, how would you feel if she got all the way to a full cap and they blew her up in the tabloids—look what happened to that lesbian girl, they gave her hell. A transsexual in the team would be right up the Daily Mail’s alley or a foreign newspaper if she was playing another country. It would destroy her.”

“But if she isn’t good enough, or would they drop her if they knew her history?”

“Si, I don’t know, but I’m sure even if she got no further, she’d enjoy the camp and she could tell her children she nearly got picked for England.”

“Her children? Doesn’t she have a similar problem in that area to her mother?”

“Yeah, but she could adopt.”

“Okay, I guess it might have been done before.”

“Ha ha, I’m going to speak to Jason tomorrow, see what the legal position is.”

“Yeah, if she has a chance of playing, let’s go for it.”

“Okay. I suspect that if they do find out she’ll probably be found to be not quite good enough—but at least we gave her a shot at it.”

“I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, babes, so if we’re going to you know what, can we get on with it?” He was so romantic when the mood took him. However, his direct approach sometimes meant he got what he wanted, and I got what I wanted—he’d foot the bill for Jason’s time; not a cheap undertaking.

Despite being tired I was too wound up to sleep—not a situation to affect Simon, who lay comatose and snoring in the bed after I got back from my little lavage. I did sleep, or must have done because I woke up in an empty bed aware that Sarah Montague was picking a fight with some woman from Ukip or some other bunch of loonies, who wanted to keep Britain in the EU but kick out everyone else because they were dirty, rotten foreigners. I suspect the concept of European Union has somehow passed her by completely.

I showered and roused the rest of the rabble for another day of mind expansion, though if Trish’s expands any more it might cover the entire globe. I chuckled to myself as I dried their hair and judging by the little looks and hand gestures, they decided I had flipped this time. If so, I reckon I caught it from the Ukip woman on the radio.

I took them to school and told Danni and the others to keep quiet about it until we knew more. “Know more about what?” they all except Danni, asked, so we had to explain. Trish was especially cock-a-hoop, saying she’d devise an exercise routine and diet for our star player. I’ll sort that out afterwards, Danni is not a guinea pig for her to test to destruction.

I called Jason from my office at the university and managed to speak with him. He needed to do some research and would get back to me. I wondered when, but at least I didn’t have any meetings today other than looking over someone’s project with them, using data from the survey. They were looking to acquire a PhD from it, if I recalled it correctly, their process was a bit vague and would need tightening up somewhat.

The aforementioned post grad student disagreed with my opinion. I did try to point out I already had a PhD so knew something of the requirements, only to have thrown back in my face that I got it because my father was the supervising professor. I told him to withdraw the comment and think on my advice because if he submitted and it was rejected he wouldn’t have time to re-present without more funding, and I wouldn’t sanction it for poor research.

“You can’t,” he shouted at me.

“I control the budgets in this department, including the research grants. Your paper is substandard, it needs a deal of work on it and as it isn’t meeting the objectives of the grant, I won’t agree to fund it any further.”

“You’ll be sorry, you—you old hag.”

“Connor, how old are you?”

“Twenty six, why?”

“I’m thirty one next week, that makes me five years older than you, hardly an old hag—but that is somewhat typical of the loose descriptions in your paper.”

“All right then, you young hag.”

“Keep thinking like that, Connor, and rewrite your paper and you might just pass.” I couldn’t help but laugh and when he left he was laughing as well.

“It all hinges on whether Danni was having hormones before or after puberty.”

“You mean if he wasn’t pulling Percy twice a night he might be considered as pre-pubertal when he went on them?”

“That would be one way of describing it, but I think a note from a doctor supporting it would be more successful in putting her case.”

“I feel it’s all going to end in tears anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because the FA is inherently conservative.”

“If they are we can sue them.”

“How come?”

“They’ve signed up for the same anti-discrimination laws as the IOC. She’s post op, we need to fast track her for legal reassignment.”

“I think we started that a while back in case there was ever any question at school or elsewhere.”

“Okay, check how far that’s gone, because if we can get her legal status and prove she was pre-pubertal, she’s no different under anti-discrimination laws than any other thirteen year old girl.”

“Crikey, whodathunkit?”

“You are so endearingly old fashioned, Cathy.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Exactly. Go and chase up her gender panel thing.”

I sent a text to Si, as his legal department sorted mine for me and were assisting with Danielle’s, they’d already got Julie, Trish and Sammi through it, so knew what to do. He said he’d speak to them. I texted Stephanie and she called me back.

“What?” she said as I picked up the phone.

No, Watts, there’s an S on the end.”

“No, what singular, as in what d’ya want this time?”

I explained what Jason had said. “He was taking pills a year or so ago so it would probably have interrupted his puberty, since when he’s been surgically reassigned and experiencing a female puberty.”

“If we needed it in writing, could you oblige?”

“I thought you were all Scots, how come you’re supporting England?”

“We’re unionists.”

“Fair enough, what’s f’dinner, in return for this ’ere epistle to the FA.”

“How do I know, speak to my chef.”

“I’ll do just that you ’ard-boiled aristocrat.”

“Do, you demented doctor.”

She rang off chuckling as she went.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2503 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I’d got Sammi to create a Christmas card picture for me which involved photoshopping a dormouse onto a background of holly with glistening snow—well I thought it looked cute. The quote from the printer’s was reasonable for a hundred printed on 200gm card, so I sent them the image and asked for some proofs. Then it was time to go and collect the girls from school.

Stella was talking vaguely about sending Pud to the convent and I assumed Cate would go there as well, and presumably, so would dizzy Lizzie. Considering her sad background, she is such a happy child always gurgling or giggling and saying the odd word—most are so odd that no one understands them, except Meems. She seems able to translate for our youngest arrival—wonder why that is?

Did you know it’s St Catherine’s day? Neither did I, it was Trish who announced it as I collected them. I knew there was a St Catherine’s hill in Hampshire which was a place of pilgrimage in bygone days. Apparently, St Catherine was one of these characters from history which although much celebrated seemed to leave no evidence of ever having existed, and are only mentioned hundreds of years later.

I suspect there are plenty of saints in the same position and possibly the founder of the faith they all supposedly served. As yet, I know of no definite evidence that Jesus as a historical figure existed, but that doesn’t matter to people of faith, which I respect. Sadly, Mohammed is a historical figure, but some of his followers seem to have inherited all the barbarism of mediaeval Christians.

The breaking wheel, with which my namesake is associated, was an instrument of enormous cruelty and used in places up until the mid nineteenth century, especially what is now Germany. The victim was strapped to the wheel and their limbs were smashed with hammers or clubs. In some they had their chests or abdomens crushed or their spines broken. The wheel was then mounted on a post and the victims were left to die from their injuries or dehydration or predation by birds. There are apparently records which suggest one person took four days to die. In a more humane method, the victim was garrotted or beheaded. In the original myth of St Catherine, the wheel is supposed to have fallen apart and she was eventually beheaded. It concerns me, that in however many years since this was supposed to have happened, we have learned nothing which could conclude we were intelligent or civilised beings. Today, two women suicide bombers blew themselves up in a market in Nigeria killing fifty people. I rest my case.

Back to my kids, as we drove home, I got excited bits of the hagiography of St Catherine of Alexandria, interspersed with the excitement of having an England footballer in the family. Danni seemed ambivalent to the latter, blushing with embarrassment while almost bursting with pride that she’d managed to outdo her younger and cleverer siblings at long last. I chose to let them continue until we got home then called for quiet. Amazingly I got it.

“Right, I’m happy that you celebrated St Catherine’s day, even though I doubt she ever existed. I’m pleased that you’re excited about what your sister might achieve in playing football. However, she hasn’t got an England cap yet despite our total agreement that she’s good enough, so tone it down a little and allow her to concentrate on her school work and training for football.”

They cheered, then Trish asked, “Why won’t she be picked if she’s good enough?”

“These things get quite complicated at times, Trish, including the fact that we’re still waiting for Danni to get full legal status as female.”

“She’s not a boy no more, she hasn’t got a willie for a start, she’s got a fanny, like all us girls.”

“The legal element can take longer than we’d like.”

“Why?”

“Because it does.”

“But why can’t the judgeman say she’s girl, only takes a minute.”

“There is a protocol to follow...” as soon as these words left my mouth I knew it would take a while to explain what I meant. I was right, I was there for ten minutes with Trish interrupting every few seconds. I eventually managed to explain that the legal process took time because once it was done there was no undoing it, so they had to be sure in the first place. I don’t seem to learn, do I? But I possibly had more sympathy for the lovely Brian Cox trying to explain the second law of thermodynamics to the average UK television viewer, in words of one syllable. At least they can’t interrupt when he’s in full flow, unlike our own brain-box. The sad thing is, she probably understands the thermodynamics bit but not due process of law. Having said that, I don’t understand either—there’s a surprise.

We trouped into the kitchen to find that David had had the day off. Wonderful, that meant I was head cook and bottlewasher and wasn’t Stephanie coming over for dinner? Stella confirmed she was and bringing little Emily with her. Just great. The girls were sent off to change while I perused the freezer. It was going to be a cop-out, I was going to do spag bol.

Pleading with Stella to make some tea while I ran upstairs to change, I stripped off my work outfit and threw on some jeans and my Yorkshire TdF tee shirt, then dashed back down to start defrosting two pounds of lean minced beef and opening half a dozen cans of chopped tomatoes.

I sipped my tea in between giving various schoolgirls drinks of milk and a biscuit, and putting a pot the size of a witches cauldron on the range. Into this I dumped the bags of mince—having removed said bags, duh—and applied heat. While that defrosted itself over a low heat, I chopped onions and mushrooms, crushed garlic and anyone else who interrupted me. In an even bigger pot, half-filled with salted water, I turned on the heat for the spaghetti.

I’m sure everyone here has their own favourite recipe, I quite like spaghetti Neapolitano as well or carbonara, but tonight it was Bolognese, and they’d have to like it or lump it.

We did have a lump of suitably disgusting Parmesan to sprinkle on the top of the finished meal, so that was all progressing nicely. For a pudding, I made up a flan case with circles of tinned Mandarin oranges, then used the juice to make up a quick setting gel, stuck a cherry in the middle and consigned it to the fridge to set. I had a large tub of cream to finish it, which according to the latest wisdom on fats and carbohydrates, the cream should be less threatening than the gel or the actual sponge case. Oh well, we’ve all got to die sometime—though I’d prefer it happened after we’d all finished eating.

It was all cooked and simply keeping warm when Simon arrived home closely followed by Stephanie with Emily in tow. “It’s spag bol, I’m afraid,” I said apologetically.

“Oh great,” said Simon, “my favourite,” he says that about anything I cook.

“Absolutely,” echoed Stephanie, “I hope you have some dirty socks to sprinkle on it, as well.”

We all laughed at that, “I have some well-rotted partisan in the fridge.” Her response was to roar with laughter. It might prove to be a better evening than I thought.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2504 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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The meal was fine with everyone tucking in and eating to their heart’s content—I had cooked two packs of pasta. As Stephanie wasn't here to treat anyone she stayed sitting at the table with Si, Stella, Tom and Julie. I was busy loading the dishwasher and Jacquie was making teas and coffees. The younger girls were doing their homework and had sloped off to the lounge.

“So let me get this straight, if Danni is transitioning during or before puberty, then the FA will accept her as a normal female?”

“That’s what Jason said.”

“Oh well, funnily enough, my letter suggests that we placed her on testosterone blockers at age twelve and following that, low dosage oestrogen. Since her attack and consequent surgical rebuild, she is now living as any other thirteen year old female, except her inability to menstruate. She is also taking a daily dose of steroidal sex hormones, commensurate with a girl of her age and size.”

“Thank you, Steph, we much appreciate it.”

“I can’t do anything like that,” said Simon, placing his mug back on the table. He then rose and walked across the room where he took something from his computer bag. He came back and reseating himself began to open a large brown envelope.

“I’ve only got this piece of blue paper,” he placed the paper in front of me, I recognised it at once. It was a gender recognition certificate. It had Danielle’s name on it.

“How did you get it, surely it would normally be sent to here, her home?”

“We gave the bank as a poste restante so the legal team could deal with any queries.”

“What about birth certificates?” I asked.

“She gets to choose what she wants on them.” He produced the form from the Registrar General’s office at Smedley Hydro.” My tummy fluttered as I thought back to my own reassignment—legal, that is.

I called Danielle to come to the room. The form was hidden. She arrived dressed in jeans and a Portsmouth Women’s FC sweat shirt. “Yes, Mummy?”

“Darling, Dr Stephanie wants to be absolutely sure that you really want to be a girl for the rest of your life.”

A bemused expression swept across Danielle’s face. “I don’t have a lot of choice, do I—I mean, how many boys have tits and a fanny?”

“How many get a chance to play for England schoolgirls?” asked Simon.

“Okay. Yes, Dr Stephanie, I want to play for England women’s team and their school girls. So I guess I must want to be a girl.”

“It sounds a little as if you just want to get an England cap and given your refurbished genitalia, you only see that as possible as a girl.”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

Stephanie went very red.

“I thought you enjoyed other things as well, about being a girl.”

“I do, but soccer is my main enjoyment.”

“What about the school, you seem to be enjoying that and your marks have improved no end.”

“Yeah, school's okay, better than that other place. At least the teachers at the convent listen to us occasionally.”

“You realise that if you are granted full legal status as female you cannot reverse it?” This probably wasn’t entirely true but it wouldn’t be easy.

“What d’you mean?” Danni looked bemused again.

“Despite living full time as a girl and having as girlish a body as you have, your legal status is still male.”

“Oh that, yeah, it’s a pain. Can’t we hurry them up?”

“Once it’s granted, assuming it will be, you can’t change back to being a male again.”

“I can’t anyway, can I? Not with this body.”

“Your body could be made more masculine again but it’s doubtful you would have a functioning penis again, although who knows what might be possible in years to come.”

“Yeah, dunno if I want someone messing about with me down there again, besides I want to play for England, so I’ve gotta be a girl to do that, I’ll never get a game as boy, will I?”

Stephanie was looking perplexed. “Danielle, you sound more pragmatic than convincing about being female. I’m concerned about it because you usually sound much more enthusiastic than this.”

“It’s okay being a girl, honest. I like dresses and makeup and boys—um, I mean playing with—um, it’s okay, really.”

“And you’re happy to stay as one for the rest of your life?”

“Looks like—yeah, it’s okay. Yeah, I wanna be a girl forever. That convincing enough?”

“I think I need to see you again, young lady, but not tonight. Next week, I think.”

“I won’t be any different—I’ll still be a girl, and still wanna play for England.”

“I thing Stephanie is concerned about your seeming ambivalence.”

“Sorry, look, I’m stuck as a girl. I didn’t specially wanna be one, but I am, thanks to Pia and her penknife, and I have to make the best of it. I’m a girl but I wanna be an England one.”

I hugged her. “Have a look at this.” I handed her the certificate. She looked at it and squealed.

“Yes,” she said, “I’m legal, I can play for England.”

Stephanie’s expression looked concerned.

“Can I show it to the others?”

“Put it in a display pocket to keep it clean.”

“Okay, thanks, Mum.” She pecked me on the cheek.

“It was your father who did it.”

“Did he? Thanks, Dad.” She ran off to show the others.

“How come you got a kiss and I didn’t?” Simon pouted.

“I handed her the certificate, I suppose.”

Simon huffed then poured himself a fresh glass of Chianti, “Anyone else?” he waved the bottle about. I nodded and he half-filled my glass.

“I’d better be going,” Steph said collecting Emily who was asleep in her buggy.

“I’ll see you off.” I walked with her to the front door.

She handed me her letter. “I have a few more qualms about this than I thought.”

“Please don’t give it then.”

“I thought she was happy as a girl, although I knew she didn’t exactly choose to be one. Now I’m not so sure, especially what will happen if she doesn’t get her England cap, or what happens when she outgrows football or It, her. What’s she going to be like as a thirty-something woman who tires of the charade she’s been living?”

“I don’t know, Steph, it worries me too, but I can’t see an alternative. If the England thing hadn’t cropped up, I don’t know if we’d have had a chance to resolve this or not. Until that’s settled with this training camp weekend, we just have to support her.”

“I’m just concerned about her long term future—that’s all.”

“I know—so am I.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2505 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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“So that’s sorted then?” said Simon as we snuggled down together.

“What is?”

“Danni’s legally female.”

“The legal situation is, that’s about all.”

“I thought that was all there was to it, get legal status and you’re entitled to the same as any other of that sex. I mean she can get married now, play for England, do all sorts of things.”

“If she had chosen to become a girl and had gender surgery, I would agree with you...”

“Well she was dressing up as girl for some time before Peter chopped her up with his penknife. I mean she went up to Scotland as a girl.”

“Only because I made her do it to try and put her off—fat lot of use that was.”

“And that youngster killed herself.”

“Yeah, Alice.”

“That’s right, poor kid with her idiot father. How is it they always manage to see the light after the event, when it’s too late?”

“I don’t know, Si.”

“At least Danni didn’t do that.”

“No, but who’s to say she won’t at some future time when she realises she’s made a total mistake and wishes she was a boy.”

“That’s not going to happen, is it?”

“How do I know? Look, for the moment she’s coping with being a girl. If she gets an England cap, she’ll feel much happier—for a period, anyway—then who knows.”

“Hasn’t she got more chance as a girl than as a boy, I mean than she would have had she stayed a boy?”

“Probably. She’s quite talented but against twice as many boys, she possibly wouldn’t look as good. In a smaller pool, she has more chance to be a big fish, so yeah—except for the change of gender, that is going to be a real complication. If she were a bio female, I’d be buying her a new kitbag, because she’d be in a team. But she’s not so we’ll have to wait and see.”

“You said that Jason implied she’d be treated the same as any other young woman once she had legal status.”

“That’s what they say in public, behind closed doors, it could well be different.”

“In which case we sue.”

“You’d have to prove she’d been discriminated against, which is very difficult. They only need to say she wasn’t right for the team and we’re sunk.”

“I only have to call in a few loans and they’re bankrupt.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Who d’you think really owns Wembly stadium?”

“The FA.”

“Try again.”

“High St?”

“Amongst others.”

“You’d bring down the FA?”

“Yes if I thought it was necessary.”

“To punish them for not picking Danni?”

“Not directly, but for overlooking a gender different girl when their policy states they wouldn’t.”

“Would you do this for any transgender kid?”

“I think so, why?”

“I know why I’ll always love you, Simon.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Um—why is that then?”

“Because when it counts, you’re a man of principle.”

“But I’m a banker, babes, you know all money and no scruples.”

“Okay, so I was wrong.”

“No, I’m only joking about stereotypes.”

“That’s good. I need to sleep now, darling.” I turned over and almost nodded off except I kept seeing Danny shouting at me—“I don’t want to be a girl, you made me one, Mummy, it’s all your fault.”

I woke up crying at one point, grateful that Simon hadn’t heard me. It was two in the morning and I decided to get myself a cup of tea. I slipped out of bed and grabbed a cardi to wear over my pyjamas. I thought about the conversation I’d had with Simon and that I would always love him. Then as the kettle boiled the song written by Dolly Parton and sung by Whitney Houston, I will always love you and the words and music seemed to play in my head. I had the song on CD somewhere and I also had a DVD of the The Bodyguard where she sings it to Kevin Costner. It was one of my favourite films and always left me in tears—crazy isn’t it that all we women love a good tear jerker—but we do. Or I do, don’t go much on horror films and that but I do enjoy a good thriller or whodunit as well, preferably not too violent.

Footsteps stopped my reverie and when I looked up expecting to see Stella or even Julie, I was surprised to see Danielle standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” I asked thinking I should send her back to bed but I suspect she needs to talk or cuddle given what’s going on in her life.

“I couldn’t sleep an’ I heard you come down and put the kettle on, so I knew it was you, Mummy.”

“The fact that I’m down here doesn’t mean you have to be as well, does it?”

“No, I s’pose not.”

“So why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay, d’you want a drink?”

“Could I have some milk, please?”

“Of course you can.” I got her a glass of cold milk and she sipped at it as I drank my tea. “What d’you want to talk about?” I asked after a couple of minutes where neither of us said anything. I knew what I thought the topic of conversation would be and wasn’t disappointed.

“This gender form thing, does that mean I’m a girl forever?”

“In a legal sense more or less. You could change it back to being a boy but it wouldn’t be easy because they only grant them on the basis that you’re going to stay in the new gender.”

“Oh,” she said blushed.

“Don’t you want to be my daughter?”

She stood up and came and sat on my lap, resting her head on my shoulder. “I love you being my mum more than anything. It’s the best thing that ever happened to any of us and we all love you, Mummy.”

“I love you all, too, sweetheart, so does Daddy and Gramps and Auntie Stella.”

“I know, we all do.” She paused for a few moments, “Did you love me more as a boy or a girl?”

“Love doesn’t compare things, Danielle, it doesn’t make conditions or terms, it just is. I love you as my child, and although I didn’t give birth to you, I love you as much as if I did. I don’t mind if you’re a boy or a girl or neither, I’ll still love you unconditionally. I will always love you,” damn that song was becoming a real earworm.

“I’ll always love you too, Mummy. You wanted me to stay a boy, didn’t you?”

“I wanted you to be happy, sweetheart and if that meant dressing as a girl or even becoming one, then it made no difference to me. I’m still your mother and as such, love you unconditionally.”

“But you tried to put me off, didn’t you?”

I did but I didn’t think admitting it would help because it would give a form of preference which she could use to justify doing one thing or the other. “I tried to give you a chance to experience life as a girl more than merely dressing as one. I hoped it would help you to see what you wanted to do. I had no idea that it would become permanent because someone else would mutilate you. I wanted it to be your decision, but when the surgeons were waiting to try and patch you up, because you’d presented as a girl, they and I thought it would be better to give you a vagina rather than try and rebuild your penis, which Peter had practically destroyed. It was as if he wanted to make sure you could never be a boy again while leaving enough skin to form a vagina. If we all made a mistake, I’m truly sorry and will do everything I can to find a surgeon to reconstruct you, no matter what it costs.” I felt tears roll down my cheeks.

“I had no chance of playing for England as a boy, did I?”

“I don’t know, darling, I know very little about soccer.”

“I don’t think I did, but I just might do it as a girl, mightn’t I?”

“I’m no judge of these things but that Mr Butcher seemed to think you had some talent, so there’s a chance. How good it is, I don’t know.”

“I’m going to give it my best shot, Mummy, like I’m going to try being the best daughter I can for you.”

“Is that what you really want to do?”

“Yes, yes it is, Mummy.”

“Well if ever you change your mind, you must come and tell me.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Okay, so it won’t hurt to promise me that you would come and tell me then, would it?”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Let’s hug to seal our pact, shall we? I promise to help you be the best daughter you can and you promise to tell me if you want to change back to a boy; okay?”

“I’m not gonna change back, I’m gonna captain England ladies.”

“If that’s what you really want to do, I’ll do all in my power to help you.”

“It is, Mummy. An’ Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart—now come on, back to bed.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2506 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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“Mummy, get up, it’s late.”

I struggled to open my eyes, in the background the radio was suggesting it was nearly half past seven. I groaned, rubbed my eyes and opened them again. No it wasn’t a dream, Livvie was standing by the side of my bed pointing at the clock. I got out of bed, nearly stumbling on top of her.

“Are the others up?”

“Yes, they’re showering.”

“You’d better go and join them, hadn’t you?”

“No, I’ll shower with you, in case you fall asleep again.” I wasn’t too happy about that but within two minutes we were both standing under the warm water as I washed her hair.

“Will I look like that?” she asked pointing at my pubes.

“You look like it now, except for some hair.”

“Do all ladies get hairy front bums?”

“I think most do, though the amount of hair is variable.”

She seemed fascinated by my secondary sexual characteristics. If I shower with the girls, it’s usually plural and it inhibits too many personal questions, so I shouldn’t be too upset with her.

As we showered, I washed her back and she did the rest herself. Then it was out and drying ourselves. “Is Danielle up?” I asked remembering why I was still tired and my eyes were all stuck together.

“Oh yes, Mummy, she’s taking her certificate to show her class.”

“What certificate?”

“The blue one you gave her last night.”

I dashed out of the bathroom and flung on my clothes while Livvie stood laughing in the doorway. “Okay, what is so funny?”

“Trish said it would work.”

“What would?”

“You’d get a move on if I told you Danni was taking her certificate to school.”

For a moment I felt angry, having been outmanoeuvred by a nine year old, or a pair of them. Then I laughed because it was funny.

They were all downstairs waiting for us. Danni had made me some tea and Trish was buttering some toast which she placed in front of me. “Hurry up, Mummy, we’re going to be late.”

We weren’t but we only just got there for half eight. I kissed each one and thanked them for waking me up and helping with breakfast. I watched as their bums swung in the kilts they wore as a uniform. Even Danni’s was taking on a female shape thanks to the combination of her age and the oestrogens. For a moment I thought of Billie and how she was missing from this group. She’d have been quite female looking by now. I sniffed back a tear and drove to the university.

The morning was quite a struggle—mostly to stay awake while I peer reviewed an article on rodents for some august journal. It was just so boring. Did I write such awful stuff? Perhaps I did. Such was the nature of science articles. Essentially, we give you loads to read for three years and if you can prove you stayed awake, we give you a degree. There might be a bit more involved but I’m too tired to think of it.

Mid morning, Delia came in presumably to see if I was awake or not. She brought in a cup of coffee with her, so I overlooked her impertinence. “We have a problem, professor.”

“We?” I asked. “I was under the impression that we paid you to sort out problems.”

“I don’t have the qualifications to solve this one.”

“Is there someone we know who can?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well get him to help you solve it.”

“It’s a her, professor.”

“Fine, ask her to help you.”

“I’ve just adjusted her schedule.”

“Fine, any problems, let me know.”

“Oh I will, professor,” she went out chortling to herself. I drank my coffee and stirring my limbs I wandered out to Delia’s office.

“What was the problem?”

“Oh, Dr White has gone sick.”

“What’s wrong with him this time?”

“He says he has flu.”

“Yeah, man-flu,” I offered and she cackled.

“What have you had to cancel?”

“Nothing so far.”

“How come?”

“Dr Freeman is doing his tutorials and I booked you to do his lecture this afternoon.”

“What?”

“I booked you...”

“I’m far too busy, we have that bloke from—who was he?”

“Mr Stephenson, he’s apparently got flu as well, so your meeting is cancelled and as it’s the introduction to ecology lecture, I thought you might be able to do it.” As I set the course up in the first place I probably could do it. The point is, did I want to do it?

“I’ve got your lecture notes out for this course.” She indicated a large ring binder on the adjacent desk.

“I might make you cancel it yet.”

“But of course, Professor. I just thought it might be nice for them to experience a true professional in action. I hear stories from your post grad students about you teaching this course. No one has done it like you since. I wished I could have seen you in action.”

“Get my review of that ghastly article typed up with a covering letter and you can sit in this afternoon—assuming I decide to do it of course.”

“But of course, Professor.” She beamed at me and it felt like she was in on some joke of which I was the butt. It was quite disconcerting.

“More tea, when you have a few minutes, Delia.”

“But of course, Professor.” She almost tittered when I picked up my lecture notes.

I didn’t really need them, I mean, I was this course until I rose up the ladder and passed it on to someone else. I was due to do it in two hours time and it lasted two hours. I called the school and asked them to keep my children for me, I might be a little late. Then I dug into my notes and it all came flooding back. Oh well, no time for novelty, I’d have to improvise as we went along. I felt my heart rate rising as the adrenalin kicked in bringing back the familiar butterflies in my tummy—yeah, this was what I used to do—and better than anyone else, except perhaps Brian, he of the particle physics and tv shows.

Delia typed up my critique of the rodent article and I sent her to get me a tuna roll for lunch while I went to speak with Heather our technician. I needed some props.

When the news that I was lecturing got out I somehow ended up with quite a few more than were signed up for the course. We have a policy of allowing students from different courses to sit in on lectures because it enriched their education and occasionally caused them to switch courses. In the old days, we’d gain about a dozen that way while losing perhaps a couple.

I spotted Delia sitting quietly at the back with her notebook at the ready. We finished setting up as the last student arrived. It was like the old days, standing room only. Oh well, let’s hope I haven’t lost my touch.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2507 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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It appeared I hadn’t. “I suppose most of you are only here because the refectory’s closed and it’s raining too hard to go to the union. Oh well listen up, you might learn something. If anyone has brought their knitting, please keep your balls under control—of wool, obviously. Perhaps I should have brought my sewing, could have been doing something useful instead of talking to you lot—but I didn’t, so I suppose I’d better do something.

“Can everyone see the screen?” The answer came back that they could. “Okay, let’s rock and roll, people.” I played a minute of Led Zepplin. “Enough of that.”

“Pity,” quipped someone near the front.

“If you wanted to listen to rock music, join a geology class—now, ecology—anyone know what that’s all about?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the teacher,” quipped the same wag.

“Can I sign you up for my dissection class? I need someone with a brain small enough to get into a test tube.” He shut up after that.

My lectures were renowned for audience participation—I once dropped bat poo everywhere to make them think. I also make people get up and move around—no one sleeps in my lectures—except dormice.

Over the next two hours I had them building an environment with strips of paper rolls and flipcharts. Between us we described the environment in its physical sense, then the types of habitat it created, finally the sort of things that lived there, animals, plants, birds, insects, bacteria and so forth.

It was woodland, so we had various types to describe finally deciding to go for mixed deciduous or broadleaf. We described the trees and hung strips of paper roll from the wall to make our trees, then bushes, finally birds, mammals and insects, and other plants. I’m the dormouse queen, so the first mammal on everybody’s lips was dormouse. I handed them a picture of one in hibernation mode.

I got them to describe how things interrelated, blue tits and caterpillars—the blue tits lay eggs to hatch when the caterpillars are most numerous. How do they know? Daylight length and temperatures fire off different activities—all very clever, but then they’ve had a hundred million years to practice, since their ancestors, the dinosaurs, became extinct.

At the end of the lecture, they’d all loosened up and I asked for quiet. I nodded to Heather the technician and she walked up onto the stage and handed me a box. “Those who want to see a live dormouse please file past the desk.” I held one of our hibernators on the flat of my hand. “Please don’t touch him, and no flash photographs.”

It took about fifteen minutes for everyone to see and photograph the poor creature, which stayed torpid. I shoved it back into its box and Heather took it back to its nest hole. The room was buzzing. Once they’d all settled back down again, I explained why I was an ecologist. I think they all knew why I studied dormice.

At exactly three twenty five, five minutes short of two hours, I stopped and thanked them for their attendance and indulgence. Delia started to clap and in seconds they were all applauding. I bowed to them and they clapped even louder.

They’d enjoyed themselves and I knew they’d also retain some of what I’d said. Okay, so I adapted techniques they used for six year olds, but it works. The surprise of what is going to happen next keeps them on their toes as it does me, which has got to be good for everyone. Who wants to listen to someone who drones on and on while doing a power-point presentation, which is how most of us are taught. I want my lectures to be an event so they remember something.

“That was brilliant, Professor. I can see why your classes are bigger than anyone else’s. You’re a performer, a mistress of her craft.”

I thanked her and also thanked Heather who had to take down my woodland by herself as I had to dash to collect the girls. Parking near to the school, because most other parents had departed with offspring in tow, I trotted into the building wondering where mine might be. I eventually found them in with Sister Maria and Trish was holding forth about something to do with the rings of Saturn. Oh no, it was orbital resonance again and the tiger stripes near the moon Enceladus.

The headmistress was sitting very patiently as Trish expounded her explanation, as to why there were various bands in the rings and they were each named after a famous astronomer. Brian Cox and his tv programmes have a lot to answer for, mind you I suspect Trish would love to study astrophysics or particle physics or whatever. It all goes over my head somewhat.

Next she was on about solar flares and how they affected satellites orbiting the earth, and how this energised plasma had caused a meltdown in the Canadian electricity grid. I stood and listened how she explained the auroras borealis and australis in terms of this energy interacting with the earth’s atmosphere.

In the couple of minutes as I stood and listened she practically explained the solar system. Quite why the others were sitting quietly and listening could only be explained by the presence of the headmistress, who finally looked towards the door and spotted me.

“Ah, Lady Cameron, you’ve come to rescue your girls from their incarceration.”

I thought it was her I was rescuing from the ramblings of a mini-genius, aided and abetted by her sisters. Once it was known I was there, they all turned and made a fuss of me, except Trish who was still on about Enceladus and smoky plumes, and who finally turned and said, “I was keeping them entertained until you came to get us, they said you’d be late.”

“Thanks for looking after them, we have some staff off sick and I had to teach this afternoon.”

“It’s a pleasure, Lady Cameron, I’ve just had me science boost for the next week or two.”

As the children went off to get their coats the headmistress and I strolled after them. “She means well but can be a little intense, she’s acquired so much in the way of data and hasn’t yet found a way of organising it. So talking about it helps her to do that.”

“Yes, I notice that she gets a little more systematic in her analyses. She is one smart cookie.”

“I know, quite how we’ll keep her intellectually stimulated when she’s a teenager, worries me.”

“If it worries you, then it terrifies me, Lady Cameron. We have staff who are frightened of her because she knows more than they do—though she doesn’t upset them as much as she used to.”

“I’ve been trying to tone down her arrogance.”

“I don’t know if it is arrogance, I think it’s more impatience, sort of, keep up with me. But we can’t, her mind is so quick.”

“Quite.”

“Are you coming, Mummy, my tummy is rumbling,” called Trish.

“Orbital resonance I expect,” I said quietly and Sister Maria nearly wet herself.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2508 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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On the drive home I mused on my teaching session and worried about how I keep Trish occupied. As a very gifted child, she’d soon be bored by run of the mill games, having said that, Livvie is better at some hand eye coordinated things, like tennis on her Wii. Once it’s down to pure brain power, as soon as she gets the hang of anything, Trish won’t just beat you, she destroys you. I no longer play chess against her, I’m not clever enough.

I did speak to my opposite number in the maths and physics department. He gave me a website to contact for super-bright kids, I’d try and look at it as soon as I got a few minutes. He also offered to have a chat with her with a view to offering her some challenges, intellectually, of maths problems. He’s used to teaching eighteen to twenty year olds, she’s half that age. I wondered if she’d have the experience to attempt such problems, as his students would have done A-level maths and therefore done a course in learning tools for increasingly complex calculations.

I wondered if there was an online course which taught similar courses, because I suspect once she got started, she’d consume it like wildfire. However, I didn’t want to just develop her mind, it needed to be balanced with activities to round out her body and emotions. In short I wanted her to be fulfilled as a young woman and experienced in dealing with people, playing sports, able to form friendships and have relationships as well as be able to calculate pi to ten thousand decimal places. If it didn’t sound too contrary, I wanted her to be a well rounded and grounded smart arse. She was going to be a challenge as she got older and realised she was much cleverer than either Simon or I were, when I hoped it wouldn’t go to her head. I needed to keep her aware of other people’s feelings and also of her own. Otherwise she could become dismissive of them and dissociated, treating them like insects or items for her amusement.

So far, I’d succeeded in all these things but as she became an adolescent it was going to become increasingly difficult. I thought about the four little monkeys in my car, each posed their own challenge.

Danni had been almost tricked into becoming female having dabbled with some enjoyment of cross-dressing and was also possibly bi-sexual. She struggled with being irreversibly female and only her enjoyment of football and the possibility of pursuing that as a woman to its highest level, gave her encouragement to enjoy being female. That she seemed to be improving academically by attending a girls’ school was a bonus. He had been abused as a boy and also fairly recently sexually assaulted on a school trip which had confused him because part of him appeared to enjoy it, or so he thought. Once I learned this I tried to explain the mechanics of what had happened as being almost a reflexive emission. Stephanie had dealt with it and I hoped it was no longer an issue. She would need further surgery on her genitalia as she grew, the scar tissue doesn’t. Trish would require the same, possibly more than once.

Livvie, had been emotionally abused by both her parents neither were that interested in her seeing her as a hindrance rather than their pride and joy. When her parents died so tragically, she wasn’t terribly upset, having been dumped on other people for so long, she had dissociated from the two adults who treated her so badly. I sensed that she needed to bond with someone and although I was concerned it should be Simon and I, was glad that she managed to do so. I hope we’ve helped to allay her insecurities and stopped her becoming too detached. Like Trish, she’s very clever, and like her sister, needs to be kept grounded and emotionally involved with the family.
Meems—my first lodger. Like Livvie, she’d almost been programmed to not form relationships with her parents because of their lifestyle needs. She’d been encouraged to see me as a new mother from the beginning by her birth mother, which I found outrageous. She’s a natural nurturer and quite girly in her manner. She loves to play with dolls and help in the care of any babies in the house. She’s quite bright too, but suffers from a speech impediment—an inability to sound the letters R and L properly. Despite several attempts by speech and language therapists and assorted doctors, she still has her impediment which worries me because it makes her vulnerable to teasing by other children. Trish can be quite cruel at times.

Somehow these poor kids had found themselves in my custody and while in some ways a godsend, as I can’t have my own children, I did and continue to wonder if I’m up to the job of caring for them as an adopted mother, let alone the two babies Cate and Lizzie or my older charges, Phoebe, Julie, Jacquie and Sammi. With the exception of the two babies, all of the others have had experiences of abuse or abandonment sometimes associated with being transgender.

My challenge with the infants is to help them understand that their mothers asked me to look after them, but as well I have to explain that they died tragically by their own hands. In Lizzie’s case, so did her dad, a copy of Livvie’s history.

In Phoebe’s case, she needed a mother substitute when her mother died from cancer. It wasn’t my idea that I fulfil the role but she’d stayed with me several times before her mum died, and I suppose I was more suitable to cater for her than her older brother Neal, who was Lizzie’s father. In taking on Lizzie, I tried to take the responsibility from a teenager, who having not long lost her mother, would not have been able to take responsibility for her niece.

Somehow we got home without incident, though I’d driven on autopilot. Just how was I supposed to cope with all these children or young adults, Simon, Stella and her two little ones, and Tom—who normally wasn’t too much of a drag on my time or resources, but who was ageing and while he was in reasonable health now, had caused a few scares. Add in that I was a career woman with needs of my own in terms of personal achievement, and an apparent agent for some Old Testament goddess and I did wonder why my hair wasn’t white or missing.

Some days I did wonder how I coped, but analysing didn’t seem to help whereas getting on with things and support from Simon, Stella and Tom, together with the older girls, when they realised the need, seemed to so far, do the trick. At times it felt like I was walking a tightrope and all I needed to remember was not to look down.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2509 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Sitting with a cuppa while the girls did their homework enabled me to reflect again, obviously I needed to prioritise. My mind however came back to Danni and the possibility of selection for a national side, albeit, a schoolgirl one. I was of the opinion she was good enough to play for them, it was when and if we disclosed her little anomaly, a y-chromosome.

According to Jason, if she has legal status as female, she should be treated as such by the FA. However, if it was disclosed and she was sidelined, we’d find it difficult to prove that it was due to her gender problem. She’s been taking oestrogens for some time, so just by looking, no one would ever know, she’s just a skinny girl with legs that go on forever.

David came to ask me when to serve dinner and interrupted my musing. I asked him for half an hour as Tom would be home and so would Julie and Phoebe. He said that was fine, he’d done a sweet and sour pork for everyone except me, I can’t stand it, so I got straight pork chop with rice and some gravy. He spoils me, but then I pay his bonus at Christmas.

I dealt with some emails for Delia, she reminded me I was teaching again tomorrow morning and I also had a tutorial—a group one with some final year students, plus a meeting in the afternoon with the dean and vice chancellor. I wasn’t sure what that was all about—teaching fees, I think. Personally, I think education should be free up to degree level. However, I’d do away with quite a few subjects—what exactly is media studies—watching the X-Factor or Downton Abbey and discerning they are total excrement.

The dinner gong rang and I went to eat. There was the usual behaviours over the meal, at least one person complaining because I had something different and they’d have liked the same—except when David and I discussed the menu, they’d all said they liked sweet and sour pork. So it was only I who said no and David offered to make gravy for me and I had that instead. When he does curry, he does the same or I get something myself, like a microwaved jacket spud or scrambled egg. I can survive on a snack meal, though I try to ensure the children get a reasonable breakfast and dinner. None of them look overweight, so I suspect between us we’re doing all right.

I do ask the convent girls what they had for lunch and as most of the food they offer is pretty healthy, they seem to be okay—so far at any rate. I pay monthly for them to have a lunch and as they’re not supposed to leave the school unless they go home for lunch, they are likely to eat something.

Simon arrived on his own, Sammi was using his flat—she’s in love again. It usually ends in tears—but then, she’s effectively ten years emotionally younger than her physical age simply because of changing over. Unless they grow up as girls, dealing with relationships has to be learnt or experienced. In some ways she’s in a similar position to Danni, who is also exploring relationships. Sadly, she’s had to start again since she moved schools and changed her appearance, which is probably just as well as many of the kids in her previous school were hooligans at best, gangsters at worst.

The rest of them had finished by the time Si came home, so I sat and drank a cuppa while he ate, then Mima came to cuddle with her dad. She’s a real daddy’s girl with Cate possibly another one. She comes for a cuddle with him if she’s still up when he gets home and certainly at weekends she does it.

The only problem with one or two of the girls sitting in with us is, being able to talk without being eavesdropped. That means we have to wait until they’re in bed or we are.

“Are you working your birthday?” he asked.

“Bugger, what date is it?”

“December the first, so your birthday is the day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll be working, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t apologise, so will I and I’m not sure when I’ll finish. Some Chinese businessmen want to invest in some British companies, providing this nonsense over Hong Kong means they don’t sulk and go elsewhere.”

“I thought you were retail?”

“My division is, yes, but if we’re talking enough dosh, I am asked to become involved, given my experience, they usually request it. Pisses off the old man, something chronic.”

I cautioned him on his use of language and half expected him to say something very sarcastic or angry but he didn’t, he understood that if he was careless with inappropriate words, he’d likely get them repeated back to him at breakfast or when the vicar comes to visit—not very often, I told him we were Darwinites. He told me I didn’t sound very Australian.

The conversation was a bit stilted because I was trying to repair one of the kid’s bikes and it wasn’t going to plan, I kept dropping little tiny screws or ball bearings and was swearing loudly when he knocked on the door of my workshop and asked if he could help. I enquired how much he knew about bottom brackets, and his response was, “I don’t think my bum has a bracket unless it’s really well hidden.” At least he had a sense of humour, he’d need it working in Portsmouth.

I told him my god was science. So he asked if I was a Christian scientist, which I thought he meant was I a Christian who is also a scientist or t’other way round. I told him I was a scientist, full stop, and agnostic at that. He shrugged and exclaimed that he couldn’t win ’em all, but we knew where he lived if we needed him. I assured him we wouldn’t.

He did continue to call because he said he liked my tea. My tea, it was Lady Grey, so hardly mine, but I did make it for him, insofar as boiling water and pouring it on the aforementioned tealeaves. It was then when we discussed my worship of evolution and he tried to convince me of its divine design and operation. I demolished his arguments although he’d probably suggest it was the other way round, so we agreed to differ. He told me he’d pray for me and I thanked him.

The godbotherers I couldn’t cope with were the JWs who have to do so much missionary work, as they see it. I refuse to talk to them now and just ask them to leave. The proffer leaflets and I refuse. They go and I get my knickers untwisted again, often by that time I have to deal with one of the kids or some other pressing matter, like the ironing. Once I told the kids that they didn’t celebrate Christmas so we were going to join them to save money—they all cried and wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2510 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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It was my birthday tomorrow, I thought as I drove from the school to the university. I’d forgotten to ask Delia what I was supposed to be teaching and although I was fairly sure of my technique, Sturm und Drang, I hadn’t done much recently, and it does tend to affect one’s confidence slightly. Consequently, my ego was currently only about the size of Africa.

“Ah, Professor, Heather was asking what you’d need in the way of assistance this morning.”

“What and who am I trying to educate?”

She smirked, “Climate change and its effect upon ecological systems, to the second year.” She handed me a lever arch file and smiled. I went into my office and called Heather. I was due to start at half past nine, she’d barely manage to do all I asked her by then.

As I had a meeting with Tom and the vice chancellor, an obsequious little man who made my flesh creep, I’d dressed tidily. I was in a skirt suit with printed cotton vee necked top. I also had a similar coloured scarf to the green of the suit. I wore heels, a gold chain round my neck and another on my wrist, together with my gold and black Omega watch. I gave my perfume a quick boost and as I flicked through my notes Delia brought me in a cuppa. This lecture was only ninety minutes as I had a tutorial to do afterwards and the meeting was scheduled for two. It was going to be a long and challenging day.

“May I come and listen to you teach again?” she asked.

“Who’ll answer the phone in your absence?”

“I asked Pippa, she was quite happy to cover for an hour and a half.”

“If you wish,” I allowed not really sure I wanted her there; I’d say no, next time. I checked my hair and makeup and carrying my folder of notes and my laptop in one hand with my handbag in the other I strolled down to lecture theatre number one. It was filling up. Heather took my laptop and plugged it into the projector system. We had a huge screen but until we could use holograms, it would have to do.

I seated myself at the bench and checked some images on my computer and then inserted the memory stick from the folder. It opened and ran through a few of them. It wouldn’t be as much fun as last time but they’re here to learn not play.

At exactly half past nine I stood up and took off my suit jacket hoping I didn’t look too fat in the skirt. Introducing myself and then my subject, I asked if everyone was able to see the screen. They all said they could.

As usual, I asked for definitions of climate change and got them to see climate and weather were not interchangeable terms. Weather was what happened yesterday or today, climate was what would happen over the next fifty or hundred years.

I asked them what was the most important climate change known. They suggested global warming. We discussed that for some time, especially the ecological consequences—such as some species extending their ranges and others ceasing to be. Nothing new there then. All species are likely to become extinct eventually, even us, though we may be the only species in the universe to know it and perhaps the only one who can prevent it.

I nodded to Heather and the lights all went out to gasps and laughs. We produced a bright flash and rumble of thunder. More gasps. “The largest extinction event we know of is happening as an asteroid smashes into the earth hitting an area we know as the Gulf of Mexico. Millions of dinosaurs disappear in a relatively short period due to the drop in temperatures caused by the nuclear winter which followed it. The upshot is that the age of the mammals began, we’re still in it but who knows how long that will last?

The air conditioning was on virtually freezing as I tried to simulate the effect of nuclear winter. It brought forth some grumbles but from who, we couldn’t see in the dark.

Then I distracted them and the heating came on full blast. It was expensive but I had a point to make about global warming, which they might just remember. The lights came up again and we discovered people were moving apart or taking off clothing—coats and scarves, that was all. Heather handed out fossils as I went into data about them. It’s fascinating when it turns out the piece of rock you’re holding is a hundred million years old because it contains bits of fossil that are no longer alive.

I made them work before they all complained it was too hot and one or two twigged what was happening. At great cost to the university, I’d overheated the room to show what it feels like in global warming.

Once again my personal cheer leader applauded and loads of others followed. I bowed and quickly left to start my tutorial group in a cooler classroom down the corridor. About forty five minutes was as much as I could stick of that and I told them to pull their socks up or I was going to be sending out warning letters.

Reminding them that they had a joint responsibility for their education and I was always ready to listen to proper complaints not whingeing which says more about the complainant than the complaint. A group tutorial, I pointed out was a chance to share views with a teacher, not a grumble shop. Some of them didn’t seem to appreciate the difference. Perhaps I was a bit tough on them, especially as I had a reputation for being this soft and caring woman who listened. I did listen but I also told them by listening carefully, I determined that many of their problems seemed self inflicted and once they acknowleged it I might be prevailed upon to help with the issues that caused it—to-wit one of my teaching staff, albeit one I had little contact with, hadn’t had any part in appointing, didn’t especially like and who was off sick—yet again. These kids were paying six or eight thousand a year for support and teaching they weren’t getting, but as no one had identified that as an issue, I let it lie, but determined to do something about it.

I spent my lunch time with files of expenses and budgets plus policy documents agreed by the university management board and academic council. I was on the latter but not the former. The council was an advisory body not a governing one so it was a toothless group in most ways.

At half past one I drained the last of my tea and finished my lunch with an apple before cleaning my teeth and reapplying my lipstick. I was as ready as I could be to fight my corner if they were looking for cuts. I’d just returned from the ladies when Delia announced the vice chancellor had been called away on some urgent business and our meeting was postponed until after Christmas. I wasn’t sure if I felt pleased or irritated as all my energy, which I’d been working up all morning, suddenly had nowhere to go. “I’m going for a walk,” I said grabbing my coat strolled out of the building.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2511 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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I was too far from most of the stores to consider some retail therapy and the shoes I had on with two and a half or three inch heels, weren’t the best things for a longish walk. The sun was shining and I’d been spared the afternoon arguing with the VC, so things could be a lot worse, mind you, the breeze wafting round my nether region reminded me I hadn’t been out in a skirt for some little while.

Not far from the university is a little park, with a statue of some local worthy, a few flower beds, some lawns and a few seats. I spotted one out of the wind but in full sun so decided to sit and boost my vitamin D levels—apparently, twenty minutes exposure of face and hands is enough—the vitamin being manufactured in the skin by the action of sunlight. If I had some chlorophyll I could have boosted my energy levels as well—except I might have been as green as I was cabbage looking.

After checking the chosen bench for nasty things like chewing gum or syringes, I parked my derriere on the seat smoothing my skirt under me as I sat. Then I simply sat back, holding my bag firmly while I closed my eyes from the glare of the sunshine. It was coldish but lovely, all the same.

I was probably there for five or ten minutes when I felt a shadow fall across me. “D’you mind if share the bench?”

I opened my eyes and squinted at the person before me. “Uh no, please do.” As there were at least two other benches which were unoccupied, that puzzled me. In case she was attracted by the blue energy, I tried to close that down while I moved towards the end of the bench. The woman, I would guess was probably ten years older than me, and was wearing nice jeans and a warm ski type jacket.

“Lovely day, I hope I didn’t disturb your siesta.”

“No, I have to get back to my office soon, anyway.”

“The sun does tend to make one want to play truant though, doesn’t it?”

“Any day like this in December is a bonus,” I replied not wanting to agree or disagree with her even though I was playing truant—except I’m the teacher, not some spotty kid.

“Absolutely—God’s in his heaven etcetera.”

“Not quite sure about that,” I responded almost by reflex and wishing I hadn’t.

“I didn’t mean it literally, partly because I don’t actually believe it, but it’s a common expression which seemed apposite.”

“In which case, I do agree.” I was thinking more of escaping this woman than necessarily listening to my conscience reminding me of all the paperwork sitting on my desk.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she started back at me.

“Don’t think so,” I replied closing her down.

“I’m sure I do, you’re not an actress, are you? I have a feeling it was on the telly where I saw you.”

“Might have been.”

“Not Downton, was it?”

“Downton Abbey? I think not.” I was hoping I hadn’t missed any news stories relating to it which would leave me open to jibes in work—for not knowing about it.

“Sorry, I take it you don’t watch it?”

Upstairs downstairs with nobs on—oops, even my internal dialogues have unconscious jokes that I can’t share with others, because they would think me mad. “No,” I mean, I could hardly say my life was just like an episode of the fatuous fiction without the butlers and eccentric family members—well without the butler anyway. Still I expect the writer will get a knighthood one of these days because the PM’s kids like it or some such stupid reason. We seem to live in some sort of inverted meritocracy or a surreal version of it, where all you have to do is win the TdF or make loads of money by ripping off others, and you get a knighthood or a peerage. The dumber the achievement, like those who failed the Darwin awards because they survived, the higher the honour accorded—like self aggrandizing politicians.

“I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“I work round here, perhaps you’ve seen me out and about.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Downton or Newsnight?”

What a strange comparison? “Positive,” I mean I haven’t been on Newsnight for years, not done anything to warrant it—recently.

“I know that face, sorry, your face.”

“Don’t know why,” if she says, ‘Youtube’, I’ll kill her slowly.

“You don’t sing, do you?”

“Only in the shower.”

“Oh, you’re not a councillor or MP?”

“Good lord, no.”

“I give up, what do you do?” she suddenly uttered.

“Eh?”

“Well, you’re obviously well known but I can’t remember who you are.”

“I’m nobody famous, you must be confusing me with someone else.”

“I’m sure I’m not.”

“Well I think I’d know if I was, wouldn’t I?” I was tiring of this conversation rather quickly.

“I suppose so, so what do you do? Your outfit looks lovely, so you must have a good job.”

I suspected she’d read too many cheap detective novels, I mean such deductions were hardly in the class of Sherlock Holmes now, were they? “You’re deducing that I bought them myself, that needn’t necessarily be true, they might have been bought for me by someone else.” I thought my put down would kill the conversation.

“They have very good taste and must love you rather a lot, so hubby has a good job, then,” she decided the whistle hadn’t sounded.

“Actually, he does. I have to go and count his money for him.” I stood up and was about to leave when she stopped me in my tracks.

“You’re the dormouse woman, aren’t you—I’ve just remembered.”

“Am I? Perhaps we just look alike?”

“No, that’s who you are. They did a whole article on you in the Echo one weekend, you’re married to some Lord or other and have dozens of children and you’re a professor or something at the university.”

“I have to go, dormice to teach and children to launder—goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Lady Dormouse.”

I ignored her and walked away. The feel good factor of the sunshine was now a distant memory. What right do complete strangers have to ask personal questions and then demand answers? More importantly, what’s going to happen when they show the harvest mouse film, they’re smaller than dormice and almost as cute.

I’d walked out of my office to dissipate the energy that I’d built up to deal with an awkward customer, viz. the VC. I had just wound up another lot of the same frustration in talking to that stupid woman. I should have remained at my post or should that now be, at my emails, I’d have achieved much more than I did from my walk, Vitamin D notwithstanding or even withsitting.

“Have a nice walk, Professor?” Delia beamed at me.

“No I bloody well didn’t,” I snapped back before entering my office and slamming the door. The world seems full of fatuous females making inane inquiries. Don’t they know who I am?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2512 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Delia producing a mug of tea helped to dispel my funk and I apologised for my earlier outburst. “You don’t like managing a department as much as you enjoy teaching, do you?”

I looked at her, “No, and I don’t like teaching as much as I do fieldwork, except when it’s tipping down or freezing cold.”

“That sounds sensible enough to me.” She turned and went from my office leaving me alone with my thoughts. I’d admitted that I wasn’t professorial material yet I was doing the job, probably very badly. I decided that I would talk to Daddy this evening and perhaps foreshorten this purgatory.

I didn’t really enjoy teaching, oh the bit about corrupting young minds in a lecture hall or classroom was fine, it was the marking and filling in forms I didn’t like or preparing the material to teach. Perhaps I was just lazy and doing marking didn’t give me the adrenalin buzz that performing did, sorry teaching. Did I only do it for the buzz? I didn’t think so, riding my bike would provide that with far less effort.

I got into teaching because Daddy invited me to do some to boost my financial status. It wasn’t something I had really thought about before because I saw my position as a student there to learn, whereas the reality was it's possible to be a student and teach those with less knowledge than I had. Having accepted the challenge to do some teaching, I wanted what I did as a teacher to penetrate deeper into the minds of my students than some of the lecturers I remembered as a student myself—some were so dire I had to go and research the subject on my own. In the end I did well out of it because I had to work to obtain the knowledge which was why I got a first in the end, most of my contemporaries didn’t bother. I suspect it was also why I was invited to come to Portsmouth, because Professor Herbert recognised my researcher potential.

Of course the fact that I didn’t fraternise much with others also meant that I tended to work, albeit in a skirt, than go out to the student’s union drinking and partying the night away. I learnt loads about biology/ecology but little about life—given that biology is the study of life, I felt there was a certain irony here.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d transitioned at Sussex, I suspect I’d have been even more of a mouse than I was as a sort of boy. It was only with Stella’s tutelage and encouragement that Cathy really came of age, without it, I might have been still hiding away in the shadows. In truth it was more than Stella who brought me out into the sunlight, Simon and Tom also helped but in different ways. Tom turned me into an academic, Simon helped to broaden my experience as a—I’m tempted to say, broad, but that tends to refer to a certain kind of woman and I was dragged up proper like.

Teaching is often seen as a feminine occupation because it nurtures younger people. Ecology, could also be seen in the same way because it’s about understanding the relationship between species and habitats, unlike agriculture which seems to be about plundering the earth. So it’s hardly unexpected that I find myself in teaching or ecology and combine the two and I hit the jackpot, except what I’m currently having to do, is deal with management of people and the politics that go with it, as well as the economic elements. Okay so essentially it’s just playing housewife on a grander scale.

Peculiarly, being a wife is a feminine occupation and believe it or not so is being a mother. Apart from loving my assorted brats to death, in some ways I see parallels in nurturing my students and my children, though obviously the latter get a more comprehensive approach.

I sipped my tea, should I ask Tom about shortening my period as a head of a department? Based on my grumbles above, it seemed like a sensible thing but I know he’d argue against it. I tried to think what he would say. It would be about getting my adrenalin buzzes from maintaining some teaching—some profs do—or from dealing with accountants and the like, defending my empire and its subjects. Perhaps I should have called myself Victoria, or would that have been plum loco? Simon would probably suggest I was more like the Empress of Blandings, but who listens to his opinions apart from Mima.

Tom would also point out the fact that being a professor was still about nurturing young minds, which is the reason most do it, only it’s a bit like being a grandparent, facilitating it through protecting an environment for others to do the actual direct nurturing like parents, or educating the people who ultimately will become teachers. Perhaps I’ll do it a bit longer, or until I can produce an argument he won’t overturn—back to the drawing board.

Delia brought some letters for me to sign and interrupted my reverie. “Professor, it’s after three.”

“Three—there’s half a dozen here,” I exclaimed pointing to the letters.

“No, Professor, the time, it’s gone three o’clock.”

“Oh poo, must collect the girls.” I dashed frantically to the car and thence to school.

Once again I found Trish holding court with the headmistress and the others sitting at her feet. “How d’you know about this, Trish?” asked Sister Maria.

“It was in a book I got from the library.”

“The school library?”

“No, Mummy borrows ones from the university if I give her the information, the wotsit BN number thingy, title and author and when it was put out in the shops.”

“You mean published?”

“Yes, that’s the word.”

“What was the book, Trish?”

“Fifty quantum physics ideas you need to know.”

“What’s the fascination of Quantum Mechanics, Trish?” asked the headmistress, “I can barely get my head round the concept of it.”

“Because nothing is exactly as it seems, Miss.”

“Don’t you find that a bit scary?”

“Oh no, Miss, I’ve grown up with the idea.”

“What d’you mean, you’re only nine now, so how can you have grown up with this paradoxical concept.”

“What’s that mean?”

“A paradox is something which isn’t what it seemed at first, it might be something quite different.”

“Does that make me a parrot’s box, Miss?”

Which when I thought I’d make myself known to them. “I thought I heard voices I recognised.”

“We were just talking about some book you got for Trish,” offered Sister Maria.

“The Quantum one?”

“Yes.”

“I bought it for her.”

“I thought you got it from the library, Mummy.”

“No, I bought that one.”

“D’you know what a parrot’s box is, Mummy?”

“You don’t perchance mean paradox, do you, sweetheart?”

“Do I?” she asked the headmistress who nodded.

“Yes, I do sweetheart.”

“Oh,” she said looking deflated.

“You weren’t expecting that, Trish, so is it a paradox?” teased Livvie, the other bright spark.

“’Snot fair,” said Trish.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2513 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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The evening went more or less as normal and although I talked with Daddy several times I decided not to suggest I was ready to give up my temporary chair at the university partly because he was having problems with the vice chancellor. I didn’t like Dominic Gasgoine, our chancellor of vice—he was a crabby old git and last time we met he ate all my chocolate hobnobs. I asked what the problem was.

“Money, whit else?”

“How much this time?”

“Twa per cent across thae board.”

“Or?”

“His accoontants ’ll dae it f’ ye.”

“My courses are the most heavily subscribed in the faculty, possibly the whole university, because of my film making and the mammal survey.”

“Aye, I ken that.”

“If I threatened to leave...”

“He’d carry on wi’oot ye. He’d mak’ his cuts an’ appoint a yes man.”

“He’d also lose his biggest courses.”

“He widnae lose ony sleep o’that.”

“Is he going to put up teaching fees?”

“He’d like tae.”

“I feel like resigning and just walking away.”

“Sae think hoo I feel, I’ve haed tae pit up wi’ this stupidity f’ years.”

“I don’t know if I can, Daddy.”

“If I can dae it, ye shud be able tae dae it wi’ ain hand tied ahent yer back. Ye’re far strannger than I am.”

“Who me?” I gasped.

“Aye, ye. Yer a woman, sae that gi’s ye an advantage. Yer journey tae womanhood wis a struggle which only the stranngest complete. Not only will ye hae complete but ye’ll see tae it yer bairns will also complete it. Ye’re strang as an ox an’ ten times as wily.”

“I’m not sure I recognise this person you describe because at times I feel very weak and watery and very vulnerable.”

“Aye but ye use yer vulnability as a weapon, ye’re as tough as auld boots underneath, Cathy; ye micht not recognise it, but ye are.”

“But why should I put myself through all this aggro? It’s not as if I have to work is it? Not at the university at any rate.”

“It keeps yer academic credibility valid, if ye went off and did yer ain thing, ye’d lose it very quickly.”

“I’m getting to the point where I don’t think I care anymore.”

“Whit aboot a’ yer students, isnae that why we bother?”

“Partly. I care about them, I want them to be as well educated as I can make them. I also want to help conserve habitats and species, possibly more than I do students, except I can use the students to help me conserve. That’s why I bother.”

“Sae are ye gang tae let him stop ye?”

“Stop me?”

“Aye frae obtaining yer objectives.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Sae that’s why ye continue tae fecht.”

“Shouldn’t he be on our side.”

“He’s a government lackey, wants a knighthhood.”

“What if I got myself head hunted and took the survey with me?”

“Ye canna, yon survey is contracted tae thae university.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Aye, hoo much, Miss Smartarse.”

“I wouldn’t want to take your money.”

“Oh aye, an’ ye think ye will?”

“I know it. Wait there.” I rushed off to my study and pulled out the file and took it back with me. “The contract mentions you and I of Portsmouth university, which means you and I have the contracts not the university.”

“Their lawyers micht see it differently.”

“Yes but I have Jason, one of the best in the business.”

“Hoo’d tak’ ye if they hae a law suit in the offing? They’d label ye a trouble maker and cook yer goose.”

“I’d block his knighthood via Henry.”

“I dinna ken if that wid work.”

“Oh bugger I have a meeting with him after Christmas.”

“Weel use yer time tae mak’ yer case or he’ll walk a’ over ye.”

“I’ll put out the word that I could be looking to move.”

“Whit aboot yer students?”

“I’ll do what I can to help them but this is bigger than them.”

“It’ll be thae same waur ever ye go.”

“We’ll see.”

“Talk tae Esmond, he’s more in touch wi’ things than I am.”

“I might just do that.”

The next morning I rang Esmond Herbert at Sussex University. For some reason I’d dressed up just to speak to him on the phone—silly I know, but such was my respect for him. So there I am having survived compliments from my girls and my secretary about my appearance—it’s not as if I’m scruffy in the first place, but I suppose a genuine Chanel suit does tend to show somewhat.

Of course he was busy so I left a request for him to call me back urgently. I returned to a more mundane level of existence and began looking at budgets and where I could cut things. There wasn’t much. I was so engrossed in my task that I snatched up the phone when it rang and was about to snub the caller when I heard a familiar voice.

“Lady Cameron, how might I help you?”

“Professor Herbert, how kind of you to call back.”

“It’s always a pleasure to speak to the most beautiful professor in England.”

“You old flatterer.”

“But of course, now how can I help you, Cathy? You implied it was urgent.”

I explained the problem in as few words as possible and he halted the discussion. “A telephone is no place to talk about these things, meet me for lunch—the yacht club at Chichester, I’ll book for one o’clock.”

“I don’t know, Esmond, I’m really busy.”

“Too late, it’s booked now. I’ll see you at one, the yacht club.”

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just your beautiful self, a smile and an appetite—the food is divine.”

“I’m trying to lose weight.”

“You can diet tomorrow, today I shall feed you on ambrosia and nectar—don’t be late.” He rang off before I could say anything. I felt pleased he could offer some advice, anxious that he could cause me to drop everything and do his bidding—at a moment’s notice. I would have to stop wearing nice clothes, I was getting too girly.

I called Tom and he told me to go—and take a doggy bag for him. “You mean for Kiki?”

“No, I meant f’ me, thae yacht club is legend f’ food.” I laughed and went and told Delia to hold all my calls and cancel my diary for the afternoon.

“You haven’t got anything for the afternoon.”

“Great, I have to meet with Professor Herbert from Sussex University.”

“Do you need any files to take with you?”

“No, I think I’ve got everything I need.”

“Is that why you’re so dressed up today?”

“No, this was set up at short notice.”

“Oh, okay—um wasn’t he your professor, when you were a student?”

“Yes, but he’s a major player in the mammal survey, so I have to keep him on board.”

“Oh, I thought you’d be having lunch somewhere and talking about old times.”

“This is a business meeting, not a lunch liaison.” I felt myself getting hotter and just knew I was blushing.

“You said he had a certain reputation with attractive ladies.”

“He has but I’m not his type, or he certainly isn’t mine.”

“Have a lovely lunch.”

“I’m not going for lunch, I have business to discuss with him.”

“Where’re you eating?”

“Delia, please, this is beginning to become impertinence.”

“Sorry, Professor, it wasn’t meant like that...”

I accepted her apology. It was partly my fault allowing her to become too familiar.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2514 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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As I motored towards Chichester a trip which would only take about forty minutes plus whatever time it took the sat-nav to find the yacht club, I mused on meeting with Esmond Herbert again. I thought about the note he’d sent Tom about me, where he seemed to understand my situation more than he ever let on to me. I suppose he couldn’t say very much in case he was accused of encouraging me. That he knew of Tom’s daughter and his reference to it in that note tended to suggest he would have had no problem with it. I could have transitioned at Sussex—damn, I wasted about three or four years.

Oh bugger, looks like an accident up ahead—just what I needed. The traffic crawled to a standstill, if not stood to a crawlstill. I put on the handbrake and waited for signs of movement.

Of course I hadn’t wasted anytime really, because I’d never have got a first if I’d been dealing with the stress of transitioning and I might not have met Stella or Simon or even Tom; my life would have taken an entirely different path and despite a good degree I could have been stacking shelves in Tesco not sitting in a luxury car with a luxurious husband and lifestyle—ha ha, but it could be if I wanted it so. The truth was that I didn’t. I wasn’t a lady of the manor type and as a scientist and teacher, I felt justified in having a career, even if it had moved faster than I’d have planned or wanted. If the girls had been a bit older, it might have been easier—though they might have been just as vulnerable at university. My phone peeped and the traffic was stationary. I checked the text it was from Esmond to say he’d heard the traffic was bad and to get there when I could. I replied telling him I was stuck in the middle of it.

I wondered what Trish would do for a career. I was awaiting a response from the mathematics and physics department to see if they could assess her abilities and perhaps meet them with accelerated learning. She was bored with her peer age schooling, she was special and needed special stimuli or would become disruptive or depressed. She can understand basic calculus at nine, I couldn’t at nineteen which might say more about my earlier teachers, especially the maths ones.

I like to think I’m probably a bit above average intelligence and so should be able to cope with mathematics—not to A-level, I suspect I’d be bored—but to just below it, so I could cope with all the stuff I currently need Simon to advise me on. He did A-level maths.

A horn beeped behind me and the traffic moved about fifty yards and stopped again. I looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was a quarter to one, I was going to be late. I had the local news on the radio it mentioned something about a car driver killing a motorcyclist a few months ago when he realised he’d forgotten his shopping list and pulled into a layby on the A354 then attempted to do a U-turn—on a busy road, the one between Dorchester and Weymouth. He obviously didn’t see the motorcyclist.

We crept past the accident site, it looked like a car had gone under a lorry and three lanes filtered into one with the gawping of drivers slowing things down even more. I arrived at the yacht club at quarter past one and after checking my hair and makeup in the vanity mirror on the back of the sun-visor, I tidied both and gave myself a little squirt of Coco before pulling on my coat and walking as quickly as I could towards the clubhouse.

“Can I help you, madam?” asked a man just inside the door.

“I’m due to meet with Professor Herbert.”

He glanced at a list, “Could I have your name, madam?”

“I’m not sure which he has down there.”

“How many do you have, madam?”

I pretended to count on my fingers. His expression was priceless. “Two, my married name and my maiden name.”

“I see.”

“It could be Watts or Cameron.”

“I have Watts down here.”

“Fine, in which case I’m Professor Cathy Watts.”

“Professor—you look far too young to be a professor.”

“Perhaps I’m older than I look,” I’ve probably aged two years trying to get into this place.

“I doubt it, madam, please sign the visitor’s book and I’ll have someone lead you to his table.” At last. I signed it as Lady Catherine Cameron. He glanced at it and his demeanour changed a fraction. “Any relation to the Camerons who own High St Banks?”

“A distant relative to Henry—he lives in Hampstead, I’m closer to his son, he lives with me.”

“You’re his—um sister?”

“No that’s Lady Stella, my sister in law.”

“Sorry, you’ve lost me.”

“Simon is my husband.”

“Oh I see.” He blushed, “I’m a bit slow today.”

“Perhaps the colder weather.”

He shrugged but summoned a waiter to take me to Esmond’s table. “Please take Lady Cameron to Professor Herbert’s table.”

The younger man nodded and escorted me across the room to a table overlooking the harbour. Esmond stood up and taking my hand kissed it, “Cathy you become more beautiful by the day.”

“Esmond, you need to see your occulist.”

“I am mortally wounded, madam, you cast my compliments aside like autumn leaves.”

“I perhaps do, Sir, but your compliments have a far richer pedigree in the bovine manure department than autumn leaves.”

“I am undone,” he said and I glanced at his flies, “Not there,” he said bursting into laughter.

“Shall we forego the dramatics and eat, I’m starving?” I said hoping to sit down and see the famous menu and hopefully taste some of it if he ever stopped talking.

“But of course.”

I seated myself and was handed a menu. I refused a glass of wine and ordered a soda with lime instead. I began to scan the menu. There were no prices—who’s paying? I wondered. Did I have a card with me if we shared or I got the tab. I did, so that relieved one form of stress.

I opted for melon for my starter and venison pie for my main course. “Ah, good ol’ road kill special,” joked Esmond.

“I thought that was badger mince or flaked pheasant,” I responded and unfortunately he’d just taken a sip of his martini...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2515 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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He did eventually stop coughing and then began laughing. “Why oh why did I let you go to bloody Portsmouth?”

“As I recall, to get a master’s.”

“You could have got one of those at Sussex.”

“I needed to move on.”

“To find yourself?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“You weren’t the first transgender student we’ve had there, you know?”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” I sipped my drink. “But to have transitioned there would have raised a few eyebrows.”

“I thought that was what you did at Portsmouth.”

“Um—it was,” I felt myself grow hot, “but it was a much smaller department.”

“Wouldn’t that guarantee notoriety rather than anonymity?”

“Perhaps—but it worked out all the same.”

“You’re such an attractive and delightful young lady, I’m sure it would have worked out at either place.”

I felt like saying that Sussex didn’t have the catalyst, Stella, who kick-started my experiment in living as a female and from which I’d never reverted. I’d never have got to know Tom or Simon and a host of young people who now called me their mother. Perhaps it was just meant to be. I felt myself smiling.

“What’s the enigmatic smile for, Mona Lisa?”

“I’m quite content with my lot.”

“I’m sure you are, how many children do you have now?”

“At the last count?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Ten,” I smiled and blushed.

“A trifle excessive, don’t you think?”

“Some might feel that, but we all muck in together.”

“And Simon is happy to have ten children?”

“So it would appear.”

“What about Tom Agnew? How does he cope with ten children in his house?”

“He absolutely loves it.”

Esmond put down his drink, “He loves it?”

“They’re not all youngsters, Lizzie is a baby, Cate is nearly five, Meems is coming up nine and Trish and Livvie will be ten soon, Danni is coming up fourteen, Phoebe is seventeen, Julie is nineteen, Jacquie is twenty and Sammi is twenty one.”

“How can you have a daughter of twenty one?”

“She needed a home two or three years ago.”

“Aren’t you rather a soft touch? Does she work or do you keep her?”

“She runs the security section of the IT department at the bank.”

“Which your father in law happens to own.”

“It wasn’t nepotism, she’s doing a doctorate in digital security.”

“At Portsmouth?”

“No, UCL.”

“Which you’re funding?”

“No the bank is because they’re drawing benefit from it. What she can’t do with a computer isn’t worth thinking about.”

“What does she call you, Cathy or Mum?”

“She calls me Mum, why?”

“Don’t you find that incongruous?”

“Seeing it out of context, yes; but the way it happened is quite different. They are all damaged children.”

“Damaged?”

“Yes abused or bullied. Several came from children’s homes and one spent some time in a juvenile offenders institute where she was raped and became pregnant, only to have it aborted and the butcher who did it took away her womb and ovaries at the same time. That damaged enough for you?”

“What was she in for—juvie, I mean.”

“It’s irrelevant because we investigated the crime and she was framed. The conviction was quashed by the Court of Appeal.”

“St Catherine strikes again?”

“Actually it was Simon who made it happen.”

“So all’s well that ends well?”

“Not quite, we’re still trying to get her compensation from the Home Office for wrongful arrest, twelve years of wrongful imprisonment, sexual assault, mutilation and subsequent prevention of the human rights act.”

“Which one?”

“The prevention for her to marry and have children—obviously the children bit.”

“D’you think you have a chance?”

“They’ll settle out of court.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if they don’t it will double the national debt, my barrister will see to that.”

“So she’ll be set for life, won’t she?”

“Esmond, they destroyed her fertility—it’s monstrous. They treated her like an object not a young woman. This all happened when she was about fourteen. It was child sexual abuse followed by mutilation to prevent the abusers from being discovered by paternity tests.”

“So one of them was some sort of doctor?”

“Yes, but not a surgeon, or gynaecologist. He butchered her. When I took her to see a gynaecologist, she was horrified that someone so young had been mutilated. Unfortunately, the perpetrator is now dead, so we’re pursuing his employer, the Home Office.”

“And what does she do?”

“She’s doing a degree.”

He nodded. “You really care about these youngsters, don’t you?”

“Someone has to—the system nearly destroyed some of them for no fault of theirs. I’m just trying to ensure natural justice.”

“While saving the dormouse and Portsmouth uni from itself?”

“Sort of.”

The meal arrived and it was delicious, “Thank you, Esmond.”

We sat drinking coffees.

“You really are St Catherine, aren’t you?”

I blushed, “Not at all, just someone who tries to help the underdog.”

“And you need me to advise you how to deal with Dominic Gasgoine?”

“I’m sure any advice you can offer would be helpful.”

“I’m not. He’s a total douche-bag.”

I noted his use of the American phrase which is the most popular new insult according to one of the dictionary compilers.

“I think, I knew that already.”

“He has some powerful friends in very low places who are not afraid to have a pop at someone.”

“He won’t be the first who’s tried it with me.”

“So I’ve heard, bit of a super-heroine by all accounts.”

“Don’t believe all you read in the papers.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

“You don’t fly, do you?”

“Not without an aeroplane.”

“Damn, I was hoping to bum a cheap flight to Spain for Christmas.”

“What about Gascoine?”

“You need some dirt on him,”

“That’s blackmail.”

“Depends upon how you deal with it. If you demand money or favours, yes. If you reveal them to several charities—who knows what will happen.”

“I think I know the perfect researcher.”

“I must head back to Sussex, are you sure I can’t tempt you back?”

“Positive.”

“You’d get my chair in three or four years.”

“I’d have a better chance from an outside institution.”

“Perhaps. I must go.”

“Thank you for my lunch.”

“The pleasure was all mine, young lady.” He took my hand and kissed it saying, “Adieu, my dear.” It was three o’clock and I stopped in the car park to call Jim.

“And they reckon there’s some dirt to find?”

“That was the inference.”

“Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work I go...” he sang, making him the world’s tallest dwarf at about six foot two. I was too late to collect the girls so asked Jacquie to do it while Stella watched the littlies.

I didn’t see the bill, I don’t think there was one, just Esmond signing the chit like you do at a hotel. Anyway, I had dined at the yacht club and felt no different, perhaps Tom is mistaken.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2516 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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“Whit did ye hae tae eat?”

“A tuna jacket, why?”

“A’ that connoisseur food an’ ye hae a jacket spud, are ye stupid?”

“It was what I like to eat.”

“Crivvens,”

“Don’t believe her, Tom, she had turkey goulash.” Betrayed by my own sister in law.

“That’s right, turkey’s goolies, a bit like sheep’s eyeballs but British.”

“Ye scunner,” he said frowning.

“It was okay, don’t think I’d rave about it, David could do something equally good if not better.”

“Ye’re trying tae confuse me.”

“No I’m not. I had a very nice clear chicken soup, then the goolies, and poached pears in red wine as my just desserts.”

“It disnae soond tae avant-garde are ye sure ye went tae thae richt yacht club?”

“There were no prices on the menu.”

“Aye, it wis thae richt ain, a’richt.”

“You seem disappointed.”

“Aye, jest a wee bit.”

“It was very nice but not special, if you get my meaning.”

“Aye,” he shrugged and went off to his den to read my paper and drink his coffee.”

“D’you want a goulash some time?” asked David, who I’d forgotten was in the kitchen.

“That would be nice sometime.”

“Yeah, haven’t done one for ages.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?” I asked him.

“Presumably cooking your dinner.”

“As you make a better job of it than I do, I’m relieved to hear that.”

“How many are you expecting?”

“I have no idea, I think Pippa will be doing her own thing, quite what Henry and Monica are doing, I have no idea.”

“Okay, I’ll start organising the food.”

“Thank you, what’s for dinner?”

Chilli con carne for the rest, a tuna jacket for you.”

“Thanks, David, you’re a star.”

“Yeah, a falling one.”

“I was born under a falling star...” I began to sing in an off key monotone which had Kiki barking then howling. I quickly slipped into my study and shut the door. Once there, I rang Jim.

“Anything?”

“Absolutely nothing, he’s cleaner than a virgin’s knickers.”

“Not a vicar’s knickers, then?”

“If you’re into men of the cloth who wear long dresses and pristine panties, fine by me, darlin’.”

“I can think of several reasons why I might not be into any of that pristine panties or no.”

“Never mind, oh did you know that men are turned on by high heeled shoes.”

“Duh.”

“Don’t blame me, it’s one of these stupid articles they have in the Guardian, or on their website; though apparently the pc male feminist who wrote the thing doesn’t find them attractive—there’s a surprise.”

“I rarely get to see the newspaper, Daddy disappears with it as soon as it arrives, although I pay for it.”

“Don’t think you missed much although the quick crossword looks more like a cryptic one by the day.”

“So are you turned on by them?”

“What, crosswords? I don’t think so.”

“No, high heels.”

“Having experienced the pain they create, not really.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“No, it was a school play of Charlie’s Aunt, guess who played the aunt.”

“Complete with high heels—I’d love to see the pictures of that.”

“Unlike Charlotte Macbeth, no pictures exist, I systematically destroyed them all.”

“Charlotte Macbeth? Who’s she?”

“Okay, Miss Charlotte Watts, playing Lady Macbeth.”

“Oh—those photos.”

“But you can show yours, you just explain they got your name wrong, but not your sex. Mine were so revolting, I used to place then by the fridge and any mice looking for a late night snack would kill themselves in order to avoid gazing at the photos of the gorgon.”

“Talking of gorgons, I actually thought one of them was called Zola.”

“Zola the gorgon, no—rings no bells for me.”

“Try it the other way round.”

“Gorgon the Zola? No—oh, Cathy, that is so cheesy.”

“Well, you try and be original with two dozen kids waiting for their breakfast or lunch or a breast feed at silly o’clock at night.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“So how are we going to dig the dirt on our little friend?”

“Well, your ladyship, absence of evidence doesn’t mean evidence of absence.”

“If that makes sense to you, you’re stranger than I thought.”

“I know what I meant.”

“Oh good, so that’s all right then.”

“I shall just get a longer handled spade and dig a little deeper.”

“Presumably you’ve done his financial stuff?”

“Oh yez, first thing I check after convictions.”

“Surely if he’s working in an environment where we have children and sub adults...”

“So that’s the staff, what about the students?”

“Get back to your excavations and find something.”

“What are you going to do if I find anything? Not the locked room with a revolver?”

“Not likely, knowing him he’d shoot his accuser and attempt to destroy the evidence...”

“Or the absence...” he chuckled.

“Go and do some work, what d’you think you are, a university student?”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.”

Who could I ask about Dominic Gasgoine—only Daddy, except he’d be appalled if he realised I was trying to bring him down. He’d probably tell me that they’d just appoint someone cloned from the same pile of poo as he was. He might well be right. Was I wasting my time?

I decided to clear out an old drawer in my workshop which I’d lined with newspaper. It included a story—well you have to read old papers don’t you, history in action and so forth—the story was of some gynaecologist who had a special watch made which was like something out of James Bond, in that it incorporated a hidden camera. He obviously took photos of women in states of undress—but somehow came unstuck. I couldn’t see how they caught him an oil stain obscured that bit, but what a perv?

I daydreamed that if we got something like that on him, what I’d do with it. I really had no choice, it would be to go to the police. I wonder if he was friend of Jimmy Savile’s? Unlikely. I suspect he’s more of a creep than a perv. He’s more likely to sell university places to illegal immigrants than mess with kiddiewinks. He replaced Godrick wossisname, who died out in India—if you recall his wife nearly did for Tom before she was arrested with that huge gemstone. Then she died a few days later and Tom had a go at me for not telling him she had died.

I wouldn’t forget that episode in a hurry, when Tom actually asked me to leave because I accused her of having a hidden agenda. She could fool a man with tales of sleeping with this celebrity or that, but not another woman. I suppose I could have been a bit more subtle in calling her a cheat and a liar, but I was spot on. When I saw into Tom’s memory of when he’d fallen in love with her when they were much younger, I was appalled by her bare-faced effrontery in giving Tom the heave ho because Godrick would be able to give her the lifestyle she wanted more than Tom, who she saw as a struggling academic.

The phone rang, it was Jim. “I don’t know if this is relevant or not...”

“Well c’mon spit it out.”

“He’s been married twice.”

“Yeah, so?”

“His first wife is now...”

“The Countess Stanebury.”

“How did you know?”

“I’ve seen a photo somewhere of the two of them together only I didn’t twig who it was.”

“Pretty good guess.”

“Yeah, but how do I speak to her?”

“Personally, I’d use my mouth and ears, you might operate differently...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2517 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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“Whit’s th’ matter, hen?”

“Oh hi, Daddy.”

“Ye’ve got a face like fiddle, why?”

“Jim has been unable to find anything I can use to embarrass Dominic Gasgoine.”

“Whit f’ are ye trying tae embarrass him?”

“To take the initiative against him.”

“Sae ye need tae embarrass him, dae ye.”

“I thought it...”

“That’s blackmail, Cathy. If ye hae tae stoop tae his levels, ye’re no thae woman I thocht ye were.”

“Did you know he was married to Monica?”

“Aye, sae does mean ye’d embarrass yer ma-in-law tae get at him?”

“Not really, I’m sorry, Daddy, I seem to be a disappointment all round.”

“Ye’re not, yer motivation is guid but yer actions ’re wrang. I telt ye, yer very stranng, jest stand up tae him, dinna let him browbeat ye. Ye’re an academic, an’ a guid teacher, ye’re cleverer than him, oot think him, dance roond him, tie him up in knots, but dinna threaten tae resign because then he has ye. He’ll accept it and ye’ll be oot on yer ear or eatin’ humble pie tae get yer job back.”

“I don’t know if I can do this Daddy, I really don’t.”

“This man is threatening a’ ye hold dear, ye have to talk tae him an’ not let him win.”

“I wish you were still my head of department and I was just a little old teacher.”

“Och, Cathy, ye’ve outgrown such things, stop acting like a child and begin tae be thae aristocrat’s wife. Ye’re a titled woman, ye’re a PhD an’ a professor, ye shud eat him alive.”

“The thought of that would make me vegetarian.”

“Aye, me tae; but ye ken whit I mean?”

“I suppose. I’ll chat with Simon and perhaps Henry would have some pointers.”

“I’m no sure speakin’ tae Henry wid be a guid idea.”

“Why?—oh I see what you mean.”

“Also if ye remind him ye’re Henry’s dochter in law, he micht try to get his ain back on Henry through ye.”

“Why is life so complicated?”

He just shrugged. I don’t suppose there are any easy answers let alone a definitive one. I called Jim and told him to cancel his research. He felt it was too soon and he was nearly on to something. Going on Tom’s advice it didn’t matter, I had to show the traditional stiff upper lip and fireproof knickers of the British aristocracy, even though I was an imposter—a grammar school girl who got promoted above her station. Perhaps I’d just use the old trick of pretending he was only wearing his underwear when we met, which tends to help stop one being over awed.

I knew very little about Gasgoine except he was a bully. That state of affairs was about to change very suddenly. My phone rang and Jim just said, “Eureka.”

“What have you found?”

“Our Mr Gasgoine wasn’t always called that.”

“Okay, I’ll buy it, what was he called?”

“Darius Glinker.”

“Goodness, nearly as dramatic as my change of name.”

“Ha ha. His father was a Russian Jew who fled the Nazis and Stalin back in about 1940—the dates are a bit hazy. His dad was a tailor and set up a shop in his house in the East End by the end of the war. No one knew where he got his cloth but several of the mob seemed to patronise his shop and it prospered accordingly.

“Young Darius was to be apprenticed as a tailor but preferred the excitement of the organised crime scene and although he was never prosecuted he was thought to be up to his eyeballs in it.”

“You’re implying this guy was a mobster in his early life.”

“Yeah, exactly that, he was a friend of the Kray brothers and mad Frankie wotsit.”

“Perhaps he’s a reformed character.”

“Not according to my source, he’s still profiting from rackets, people smuggling and so forth.”

“And they’re thinking of giving him a knighthood?”

“He puts pennies, lots of them into the Tory election machine.”

“All of it tainted or blood money.”

“Could be and Cyril Smith still got his knighthood as did that creep Savile, so it’s no guarantee of decency.”

“Can you get me proof positive that he’s still a mobster?”

“As in presented in court proof?”

“Yes.”

“That could be difficult or expensive, loads of the Met are on the take.”

“See what you can do, Jim.”

“Usual terms?”

“Go and get digging.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I went and told Tom what had been hinted. “Whit wid that say aboot Monica?”

“Being a hoodlum’s wife?”

He gave me a long stare.

“But if we could demonstrate he was unsuitable for office.”

“They’ll appoint someone who’s even worse.”

“What if you stood against whoever that was?”

“Cathy, are ye mad? I’m no a politician.”

“I wonder if Henry would?”

“Ye’ve got tae get rid o’ Gasgoine first and I’m no sae sure ye’ll be able tae.”

“We can but try.”

“An’ if ye fail, will ye go?”

“I might.”

“Sae he wins.”

“At least I’m beginning to understand what I’m up against.”

“Dae ye, hen, I’m no sae sure.” He walked away before I could say anything in reply. Once again I was back to feeling less than happy with myself and my ability to deal with this toerag who’d doubtless connived to get this position and who it would be a good thing to remove. Just how we did it was another matter, a whole new ball game as the folk across the pond would say. Maybe I should count my blessings and leave to become a full time mum and wife? It certainly has its attractions—then I think of Spike and others like her. They need people like me to protect them and monitor their numbers and habitats.

I had a month to collect my intelligence and make my decision before I met this unspeakable man. Surely, if he thought I was gunning for him, he’d come for me first. I shall have to be very very careful, and tell Jim to be extra discreet.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2518 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Tom seemed to think I should avoid trying to expose Mr Mobster Gasgoine and just concentrate on arguing my case on valid academic and business grounds. My department is making a profit therefore stuff your cuts, accompanied by loudly chanting Na na da na na and making rude hand gestures. If that doesn’t work, offer to move elsewhere taking mammal survey data and management with me and watch department collapse within a year or two at most. Plan B would involve doing this with loads of publicity and making inferences that as a man of dubious morals was unsuitable for the post he held and unworthy of public recognition as anything but a crook. That step could involve some interesting legal developments, especially if we had evidence to back it up. Naturally I’d have to speak to Si and Jason before running in front of the king’s horse in case I ended up in the same condition Emily Davison did.

I suddenly felt very tired. The whole system seemed to be created to allow abuse by those who ran it with very little comeback from the little man or its victims. Successive governments appeared content with a growing gap between the wealthy and the poor, because the zeitgeist seemed to encourage a free for all, with the winners able to trample and spit on the losers—who had only themselves to blame for being losers and thus poor.

Capitalism reminds me of a natural system, primarily the ecosystem of the African plains, where smaller numbers of predators consume some of the much larger numbers of herbivores. If there are too many predators the system falls down because they eat all the prey and eventually starve themselves or eat each other until that happens or new prey arrive.

Usually they take the old or weak first—easy killing, so keep the stock strong—it isn’t nice but very effective. Vultures and scavengers mop up the bits they leave or the animals that die from natural causes such as age, disease or famine.

Government would be the largest predator taking taxes off everyone, then the banks and money industry, then retailers of all sorts. The vultures would be venture capitalists and other asset strippers together with various usurers and loan sharks. Thieves of other denominations could be seen as various pest species such as caterpillar infestations or mosquitoes.

Sadly, the age of the great plains herds is over be that North American buffaloes or wildebeest crossing the Serengeti, because of incursion by man, over hunting, or climate change. It has had its time and will decline. Elephants are being slaughtered in huge numbers for ivory by poachers to sell to newly enriched Asians who are too stupid to see the folly of their act. When the poor have money to spend they don’t care where the goods originate or how much they cost, or not in China apparently, where ivory is used for decorative pieces and folk medicine, along with juices from bear’s gall bladders. They also use ground rhinoceros horn as an aphrodisiac—ludicrous isn’t it, unless you’re a rhino, then it becomes deadly serious.

Homo sapiens, now correctly relabelled as Homo stupidus, has been reclassified because of its persistence in nonsensical beliefs such as superstition, religion, UFOs and that UKIP are electable. Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy however seem acceptable to all except JWs.

No wonder I feel tired, the population seems intent on spending as much as it can on whatever crap it’s able to find in the belief that offering it as Christmas presents will give happiness or put the donor in a good light. Is there any intelligent life out there?

The other week we had another US import, ‘Black Friday’ when there was actually rioting in shops over discounted goods. People were fighting for iPhones and televisions. US giant Amazon, had a computer malfunction which caused loads of goods to be offered for a penny, when their real price was much greater. One trader reckoned he’d lost hundreds of thousands of pounds. Amazon, that well known global tax avoider, has refused to compensate losers for its mistake. This is the world we inhabit, where all that matters is being stinking rich, the smell being generated by the decomposition of the bodies of the victims that were fleeced to achieve the ill gotten gains.

The folly is that the wealthier we get, the more unhappy we become because happiness doesn’t come from material gain, it seems to just encourage greater desire or covetousness—which when unfulfilled, as it must eventually become—leads to unhappiness. Mind you, the Royal College of Psychiatrists blame the US led ‘happiness industry’ for encouraging an unrealistic belief that we should be always happy and engendering such thoughts in our children.

I don’t have a problem with the reality that life is always blissful, it ain’t. In fact much of the time it’s anything but. However, I like my children to feel joy or happiness some of the time and while it may prove a distraction by dint of encouraging self-gratification rather than pragmatism, I’d still hope my children had some experience of it, because without life would be like having a UKIP government, the translation of UKIP, which is a foreign word, is I believe, Rochester Taliban. Irony doesn’t seem to feature in their deluded thinking, as their biggest new donor is a tabloid magnate who is himself a naturalised immigrant who made his fortune selling pornography. Don’t you just love politics?

In my experience, happiness is something mostly understood by recollection. We were happy then, rather than the present. It’s also something which is not based on logic or material value, but happens now and again and is frequently recognised by comparison with something more recent. For instance, thinking about this hoodlum being in charge of anything other than slopping out his own cell, makes me feel unhappy. Life was happier before it got this complicated. Simplistic? Probably, but to me, happiness and joy is being with my family or remembering those times, it has nothing to do with money or power. Can I prove it? Yeah, one of my happiest moments was realising I could feed Cate myself, especially after realising what that child had lost in coming to me.

Happiness was waking up after surgery and realising I was woman at last, or as much as I ever could be physically, and sharing the memory of that with Sammi, Julie and Trish when they also had surgery and had the same realisation.

Happiness was discovering that the man of my dreams had accepted me despite my little anomaly and still wanted to be with me. That was pure joy, and although we’ve wobbled occasionally, we still love each other with a passion and I hope compassion.

Oh the light of my life has just arrived, now how do I canvass his opinion about Gasgoine? Time to consider an indirect approach to the topic via feminine wiles, I undid another button on my top and went to greet my bedmate.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2519 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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“Cathy, who do you think you are?” asked Simon. Our discussion hadn’t gone as I’d intended, in fact the opposite had happened and it had gone severely off course. “You’re not some moral guardian of the university. From what you’ve said it sounds as if this man is extremely dangerous and needs to be left to the police to investigate. It certainly isn’t your job—yours is to corrupt young minds, by filling them full of images of cute furry things.”

“According to James, the man is protected from them by the corruption that exists in the Met and government.”

“So people are watching his back, are they?”

“James seems to think so.”

“I’ll give him a shout tomorrow and try and arrange a meeting with one of our auditors. The man knows finance law inside out and if there’s a way of exposing him to the FCA, he’ll know it. I want you to promise me not to interfere until I get the advice of our forensic auditor.”

I wanted to talk about something less painful or go to sleep, in the end the latter won and I zonked waking the following morning to hear that over a hundred children had been killed by the Taliban in Pakistan. Words failed me. It was so mediaeval, one sect massacring another.

I really felt that religion was a poor excuse to commit any sort crime although all sorts of denominations justified their actions through their god. As an agnostic and parent, I felt outraged. I am sure that moderate muslims and other faiths would be equally disgusted by this inhuman bloodshed. I seem to recollect a slaughter of the innocents from an earlier period under a certain King Herod or so we are led to believe.

Is history repeating itself, particularly with regard to a certain New Testament character. The sad thing is that as nothing has changed fundamentally in two millennia, the same outcome may follow which could result in zealots from some new sect were being persecuted only for them to persecute others fifteen hundred years later. It feels like a cross between groundhog day and some weird astrological prognostication.

A quick glance, a little later, at the news headlines and it was certain that Christmas was near. Some lunatic in Sydney had held hostages causing three people to die. In the States, some nutter had killed six people including his ex-wife, all from her family. One day, people will stop abusing each other. I can guarantee it. I predict it will be the day our species, Homo stupidus, becomes extinct. Possibly the sooner it happens, the better.

On my way to the university, it looked as if the most viewed things on the internet were horrible things like Putin’s pet tiger eating some poor dog or some murder or other—you know the sort, ‘exclusive pictures inside the school in Pakistan, where the blood was still running down the stairs’. Because large numbers of us have been desensitised to slaughter, by the media, computer games or films, or simply by being total psychopaths, we seem to enjoy being titillated by sights of such things.

I remember being on the scene of a stabbing several years ago where a young man died because of the paranoid delusions of another. The amount of blood was astonishing, and it was still in puddles or little rivulets. It was truly terrible and it fills me with sadness even to this day. Why anyone should go in pursuit of such things completely baffles me, but huge numbers do.

I expect the coffee shop in Sydney where that tragedy occurred will be a new tourist site for visiting ghouls. I hope each one of them will have nightmares for a long time to come.

We talk about civilisations, ancient or otherwise, meaning the organisation of people and resources for their mutual benefit under a regime of laws and so on. I see it as something to which we might aspire, because we’re still controlled by biological urges for power or wealth, sex or security. The latter isn’t possible because of the others and it appears that people will renege on any agreement if it suits their own agendas.

The Taliban is driven by fear. Fear that it might lose control over people, especially women, who it fears for all sorts of reasons, but especially female sexuality. It fears educated women because they become free thinkers and are even harder to control. Essentially, because of its repressive nature towards half its population, it carries the seeds of its own demise. It might seem impressive because of its record of brutality and cruelty, but ultimately, it will fail. Some women have been educated, others have learnt that they could be educated and thus freer. The rot has started, the Taliban will fall because no matter what weapons cave men have they won’t survive against the human urge to learn.

Ultimately, education should either reform society by peaceful means or show oppressed people the wrongs of their oppressors and foment rebellion or revolt. Unless of course the oppressors get sneaky like the Catholic church, which still represses the role of women but gets involved in all sorts of so called good works. Perhaps the Presidents Obama and Castro could negotiate with the Pope for the introduction of women priests and bishops as per the original Christian church in Rome.

The lights on the road works changed and a toot from behind me brought me out of my reverie and back to my everyday life. The traffic crawled once again and I eventually arrived at my office to begin another day of letters, accounts and assessments of students who were deemed to have failed the standard to continue their studies. We would call them in for interview and unless they did some very fast talking or showed greater commitment would be discharged from the course. It was my signature that would be on that letter. It really pained me to do it. We did give them a chance to redeem themselves but most didn’t bother.

I reflected upon my thoughts from that morning as Delia made me a cup of tea. I acknowledged that I was an unadulterated idealist and it might be even loosely considered that what I dreamt of could be seen as building a heaven on earth. I believe someone else preached about that many years ago. Thomas called him a Teacher of Men. I’m a teacher of men and women...oops.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2520 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

---

“Before I came to work here I thought life in a university was a doddle,” Delia informed me.

“You mean, this isn’t?” I asked in response hoping it sounded incredulous.

“No, it’s quite hard work.”

“Who am I to disagree?”

“Are you taking the piss, Professor?” Her response caught me entirely off guard and just swallowing a sip of tea. I coughed for several minutes while she walked away with an expression and body language which said, ‘serve you right.’

Despite my near demise from drowning in my own cuppa, we managed to shift quite a bit of stuff from my desk to someone else’s, including the environment agency, Natural England, the mammal survey data group and so on.

Tom took us both to lunch and spent much of the time complaining that his desk filled with paper faster than he could shift it. Delia was going to say something when I managed to stop her. He’s a wily old bird and if we’d suggested we’d cleared much of ours, he’d have dumped some on us.

For a complete change I had a jacket potato with some fish in mayonnaise and a side salad. Delia had ham salad with chips as her side order, Daddy had—you know that anyway.

Tom and I listened as Delia related how as a child she’d always wanted a pony but her parents weren’t rich enough to buy her one. So she started helping out at a riding stables and in return for mucking out, she got the odd ride. Nothing new there, lots of girls do it and the odd boy. She went on to describe how one of the boys occasionally looked a bit less boy than usual. Seems he let his hair grow longer than was fashionable and once or twice she thought she detected hints that he’d been wearing eye makeup or nail varnish.

Then one day, while he was mucking out wearing gum boots, one of the horses, a big stallion, stepped on the unfortunate boy’s foot. He yelled as the ton of cat food damaged his digits but he didn’t want the owner of the stables to look at his foot. She insisted they went to the local hospital and Delia went along to help despite his protests. Transpired, the irascible equine had fractured some of the boy’s toes which apart from turning a lovely shade of purple had nails which were painted a glossy deep red. No one said anything, the doctor, the stables owner or Delia—least not then.

The woman ran him home from hospital and Delia made a note of his address and the next day she sent him a rather girly get well card. The following weekend she went to visit him, to see how he was and if she could find the nerve, ask him why he was wearing nail varnish on his toes. She wasn’t put off, rather it intrigued her, as only glam rock stars or drag artists wore makeup, he was neither—as far as she knew.

“Sae whit happened?” asked Tom pausing with a fork of chicken curry in mid air.

“His mum left us to talk and I asked him. He said he liked to dress up as a girl sometimes.”

“What did you think of that?” I enquired.

“Nothing much, I just told him I did too, perhaps we could do it together some time.”

“Did you?”

“Oh yeah, his mum was okay with it, so we’d dress up a couple of times a week and do our homework.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three years, I suppose. It got kinda boring after a bit. He was very nice, but he preferred being Sheila to Sean. I occasionally wanted to go out with a boy.”

I think we both understood her viewpoint which while sympathetic, showed she also wanted something from the relationship, which was a boyfriend not a pseudo girlfriend. We finished our meal and went back to the university.

I wasn’t sure why she’d suddenly divulged this tale and when she arrived bearing mugs of tea, I asked her.

“Oh that? I was thinking about Christmas and all the presents I used to wish for.”

“Did you ever get the ones you asked for?”

“Except the pony, yeah, lots of things. Did you?”

I withdrew the last two mince pies from my desk drawer and we sat and munched them with our teas. “I always wanted a tea set, but never got one,” I related.

“Why? I had two of them.”

“My father said something about preferring I had books than toys.”

“I can see why you’re a professor and I’m not.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked out to be.”

“It pays better than temping.”

I had no sensible reply to that so said nothing.

“I saw Sheila, a few weeks ago.”

“Sorry?”

“My girly boyfriend, Sheila, I saw her a few weeks ago.”

“Oh?”

“She was working in Sainsbury’s.”

“She?”

“Yeah, she changed over. Her mum was supportive but her dad didn’t like it. She was the delicatessen manager.”

“Good for Sainsbury’s—supporting her, I mean.”

“Oh yeah. I said we could go for a drink some time, she was going to call me, she hasn’t yet.”

“Why don’t you call her then?”

“I could I suppose. Am I strange, meeting up with a girl who used to be a boy?”

“Do you meet up with other girls?”

“Yeah, course.”

“So what’s one more girl friend?”

She looked at me for a moment obviously thinking about what I’d said. “You’re right, I’ll go and phone her.”

“It’s not what she was that’s important, but who she is now.”

“I can see why you’re a professor, Professor.”

“Can you, damned if I can.”

She took out the dirty cups and chuckled as she left the room. Tempting as it was to go shopping in Sainsbury’s, I resisted the urge and instead collected an army of children from the convent and took them home.

Delia was working Monday and Tuesday, I was going to go in and check the dormice those two days and pop and see if she needed any letters signed. Otherwise, I was about to start my Christmas holidays—whoopee doo. I had presents to wrap, still one or two to procure plus all sorts of Christmas stuff to do.

Back at home I spoke to David and casually asked what he had planned for Christmas. “Apart from cooking your dinner—nothing, why?”

“Ingrid not got anything lined up for you and Hannah?”

“They left three weeks ago.”

“Oh my goodness, I am sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Her car has been gone for weeks.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Obviously.”

“You must have dinner with us, you’re part of the family, after all.”

“Mind if I see how I feel?”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry this has happened.”

“We got bored with each other and perhaps in the end I wasn’t man enough for her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2521 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

---

“So Ingrid and Hannah have gone?” asked Simon clarifying what I’d just said.

“So it would seem.”

“Permanent, like?”

“That is my understanding.”

“And no one told you?”

“Not until I blundered into asking David about Christmas.”

“Shouldn’t they have told you? I mean you are their landlady.”

“I don’t know, Si.”

“Typical, you go out on a limb to help them and they just push off without so much as a how d’ya do.”

“That would seem to be how much of the world operates. When did you last receive a thank you note from anyone you gave something to?”

“Let’s see,” he said rubbing my breast, “ I gave you a good seeing to on Monday and the thank you note hasn’t arrived yet...” He paused, “Ouch, what was that for?”

“Semaphore. Your note was semaphore.”

“Semaphore—that’s done with flags—that was a slap, missus.”

“I left my flag behind and had to extemporise.”

“A likely story...”

“Please yourself, now are you going to tickle my tits or let me go to sleep?”

“In the absence of a better offer...”

Thank you note—ha ha, he should be sending them to me not the other way round—bloody cheek. Still he was very attentive and so I’ll forgive him this once—very attentive—ooh that was nice...

I struggled out of bed and had to run to the bathroom as I needed to wee rather badly, or saying it in English, I badly wanted to wee. I’d like to say I leapt into the shower, but crawl would be closer to the truth. I hadn’t been that athletic, had I? Couldn’t remember, but I was stiff as a board this morning. The hot water eased things—one of these days I’ll have a bath instead of a shower, that would relax me even more until I had about four extra bodies trying to get in as well. In fact of the female population, only Kiki and Stella were guaranteed not to want to share the bath.

Dried and dressed I watched Simon watching me. I was sitting at my dressing table doing my hair and then my makeup, I could see him watching me in the mirror. I poked my tongue out at him and he reciprocated. “Wot you lookin’ at?” I asked in as deep a voice as I could manage—it still sounded like Minnie Mouse.

“The most beautiful woman in my world.”

“That’s nice, where is she, you’ll have to introduce us.”

“Cathy, one of these days...”

“Right, I’ll take Danielle and Trish off to their fitba’ matches, you can look after the rest. I have to go to the university to check the dormice and do some more Christmas shopping afterwards.”

“Don’t I get a say in any of it?”

“You just did.”

“Can’t Jacquie watch them for you?”

“No, she’s out all day.”

“So I have to slave all week then come in home to have to supervise the children while you lot gad about doing what you want.”

“Yeah, terrible isn’t it? Tell you what, discuss it with Trish and put it in writing to Livvie, she runs the complaints department, but make sure you get your grammar correct—she’s something of a grammar fascist.”

“Not intransitive verbs again?”

“Fraid so.”

He slid under the bedclothes.

“You can run but you can’t hide,” I offered spritzing myself with Coco—the perfume not the drink. I left him to his fate, while I collected the two stars of the football teams.

We breakfasted and they collected their kit. They each had some tidier stuff to wear shopping but set off in tracksuits—team GB ones, I got reduced on the internet. They were designed for cyclists rather than footballers but they do the same thing for both groups. The girls thought they were super smart, though I wondered if it was as it identified them as individuals.

I watched half of each game as I promised. The first half of Trish’s game and the second of Danielle’s. Both scored goals. Trish hit a cracker. It was lofted towards her and it bounced and she volleyed it on the rise. The goalkeeper didn’t see it fly into the top corner of the goal. They won two nil.

Danni also scored with a long range pop at goal. She lobbed one at the opposite goal keeper who was late coming to intercept it, consequently it bounced over her head and into the goal. The second goal was typical Danni, she took the ball on the run and dribbled past three defenders before wrong-footing the goal keeper, who dived the wrong way. They also won two nil.

After showering they changed into smart casual and dumped the rest of their kit into the boot of my car. Next stop the university.

There are always a few cars about in the car park here, although you don’t always see anyone else about. I waved to the security man on the gate before we all three strolled towards my department. Suddenly I feel quite proprietorial about my department, even if my tenure is only temporary. I did the code on the alarm and unlocked the outer door, the girls trotted in.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” said Trish.

I recognised it immediately, told Danni to stay put and keep Trish with her. I dashed to the labs, which was where it was emanating and after fumbling with the lock on the door rushed in expecting to see dozens of dead dormice instead I found one deceased lab technician, lying on the floor with a nasty head wound. The smell was awful and I threw up in one of the sinks. I left the room and shut the door behind me. Then composing myself, I called the police on 999 and reported what I’d found. It looked suspicious to say the least. I then called Tom and explained to him. His response—“I’m on ma way, hen, dinna touch onythin’.”

After that I led the girls out of the department and into the fresh air of the carpark. We walked across to the security guard. I explained I’d found something unpleasant in the laboratory wing and the police were on their way. He nodded an understanding which I tried to keep away from the girls.

“Police? Wassat all about?” Asked Danni of her younger sister.

“She’s found a body,” was the reply and it shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. The security guard smirked.

“She always like this?” he asked.

I nodded, “If the police get stuck we send her in.” He roared with laughter.

Tom and Simon arrived moments before the police, who came with bells and whistles. “Who called us?” asked the bloke in a suit.

“I did, look my husband has just come to take my two girls home, can I quickly say goodbye?”

“Quickly then,” was his curt response.

“Aww, Mummy, can’t we see the body?”

“Certainly not, it’s not a nice thing to see.”

I hugged and kissed them both and Simon took them off in his Jaguar. I introduced Daddy as the Dean of the faculty and then showed them to the pertinent laboratory. The smell was still dreadful. We were told to wait as once they’d removed the body, a part time technician called Bernard Black—I’d only met him once or twice before, we’d be asked to see if anything was missing. Oh shit, I don’t come here much my dormice are in a different lab and besides I’m not a lab bunny.

We were allowed to check the dormice—thankfully, they were all okay. Then Tom and I repaired to his old office, now under my temporary occupation, where I made us some tea. Just what I needed for Christmas—a murder mystery.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2522 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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The police came to find us and I was taken to an empty office where the DCI had set up a temporary office. “Professor Watts, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Not a lot to tell, I took my two girls to their school football matches and we came on here afterwards to check the dormice.”

“I thought they hibernated this time of year.”

“They do, but just in case one is awake someone calls by every day and if necessary puts out some food.”

“I see, how did you discover the body?”

“The smell as we came through the outside door. Even my little girl noticed it. I made them wait while I went to investigate. I saw the body and the smell made it obvious he was dead. I threw up in the sink and them came out to call for help, I mean I dialled triple nine, then went outside as my head was reeling from the smell. I warned the security man we had a suspicious death and I’d called the police.”

“So how come your husband and father were here.”

“I called them, Simon to collect the girls and Daddy because he’s Dean of the Faculty of Science and would need to be involved at some point.”

“Okay, off the top of your head did you notice anything out of place or unusual?”

“Only a lab technician with his brains all over the laboratory floor.”

“No open windows or unlocked cupboards?”

“I didn’t see any, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any.”

“There weren’t.”

“Judging by the rate of putrefaction, he must have been there from sometime yesterday afternoon.”

“Wouldn’t he have been found?”

“Not if he was the only one on the rota for dormice or setting up stuff for after Christmas or checking it was there—it’s embarrassing if you plan to do an experiment and half the stuff is missing.”

“Quite.”

“He could also have been doing a stock take or any number of things. He was on duty until yesterday teatime. The security should have noticed he hadn’t checked out.”

“How do they do that?”

“We swipe a card to get in and out.”

“So they know who’s in the building?”

“Yes.”

He called one of his underlings and sent them to get the log of entrances and exits. It will show I left at three pm.

“How did he get on with people?”

I shrugged, “I only ever spoke to him about three times. In my previous post I was responsible for the technicians, now I have very little contact because apart from one or two courses I do a session on, I deal more with postgrad students.”

“So you didn’t hire this guy?”

“No, that would have been Dr Hamer.”

“Where do I find him?”

“Her—I can look up her address if you want.”

“Yes please. That’s it for now. I’ll need any staff records you have of the deceased.”

“Don’t you need a warrant for those?”

“It’s on its way. You have a certain reputation for doing things yourself, I hope we don’t have any loose cannons, because I’ll arrest you—no messing.”

“I try to cooperate with the police whenever I can.”

“That isn’t what your reputation suggests, Lady Cameron.”

“It’s all a great exaggeration, I’m sure.”

“We’ll see, but it appears since you’ve been here in Portsmouth the amount of violent crime has increased and you have more murders at this university than Inspector Morse at Oxford.”

“Yeah, but he solves them in under two hours.”

“He’s read the script.”

“Fine, can I go now?”

“Yes, but don’t leave town without letting me know.”

“I’ve no plans to do that before Christmas.”

“Please send in your father.”

I did as he asked and also went to the personnel files in Delia’s office. I went through them four times, we didn’t have one for Bernard Black. Tom came back and I called the young female detective who was helping her boss and showed her the filing drawer.

“It’s not here?” she asked.

“That, certainly; but it could also be that there never was one.”

“Why d’you say that?”

“All the others have a space allocated, his doesn’t.”

“Weren’t you his boss?”

“Not directly, I’m in charge of the biological sciences department, but there are a few line managers in between me and a lab technician. I’d barely met the man and I certainly didn’t appoint him.”

“Did you like him, Professor?”

“I hadn’t met him enough to form an opinion.”

“But who d’you think killed him?”

“Person or persons unknown. If I hear anything more concrete than that, I’ll let you know.”

“Make sure you do, Professor, sometimes a case can turn on a tiny fragment which is half remembered. So anything might help.”

“I’ve got a feeling he did chemistry not biology.”

“So why did you employ him?”

“I don’t know, but he might have been the best of a bad bunch.”

“Why did you mention it?”

“Because it’s unusual.”

“Okay, it’s unusual, so what?”

“What if he was going to be processing something he shouldn’t have been.”

“Like drugs, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Could he do that here, make crystal meth?”

“If he had all the ingredients—possibly.”

“And a drug dealer bashed his head in?”

“I don’t know, but you said to report any suggestions or suspicions we had.”

“I did, didn’t I? We’ll check for the missing file with HR, and also for illegal drugs in any of the laboratories.”

“Feel free.”

“Oh we will, Professor. We’ll also require you to come in tomorrow and see if anything is missing or out of place.”

“What time?”

“Morning preferred.”

“I’m going home now to see my children, if you don’t mind.” I locked Delia and my offices, without asking the police, if they wanted them open, they could call for the caretaker, he has keys to everything.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2523 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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“Who was the victim?” asked Si as soon as we got home.

“One of our technicians.”

“What was it a burglary gone wrong?”

“No idea, but some miserable pig bashed his brains out.”

“No suspects?”

“Only an irascible dormouse who didn’t get her nuts.”

“I thought they were hibernating?”

“They are, although it’s quite mild really.”

“I thought you could control temperature in that super-duper box you had built.”

“I can, it’s already cooler than outside.”

“Wouldn’t it be cheaper to stick ’em in the freezer for six months?”

“Cheaper but futile—they’d all die.”

“End of problem.” He looked rather more awkward than he sounded.

“Si, that is the basis of our captive breeding programme, if we lose any we shrink the gene pool.”

“Get some fresh blood, then.”

“It isn’t quite that easy.”

Sure it is, get some randy males in, let them do what they do, fresh blood.”

“Which might also be carrying all sorts of parasites.”

“What the blood?”

“Yes, from viruses to nematodes.”

“Oh well, good job I’m not running your breeding programme then.”

“When we chip the mice in the wild we send off the syringe things we use for the blood to be tested for all sorts of things, including DNA.”

“DNA—why’s that in case of paternity suits?”

I shook my head, one day he’d grow up, except by then I’d be old and grey if not deceased.

David was still not his usual self seemingly a bit surly and short with the girls, a very unusual situation. As soon as the kitchen was clear I decided to have it out with him.

“Do you need to take any time off?”

“Not really, I’d rather work.”

“Fine—look I’m aware now that you’ve got some problems, if I can help...”

“Yeah. Just butt out.”

“David, I’m not sure what I’ve done to merit such insubordination, but I think an apology is in order.”

“Tough—stick your job as far up that well meaning arse as you can shove it. I quit.” He threw the tea towel he wore as an apron at me and stormed out, slamming the back door behind him. I was left staring at the door holding the cloth in my hands.

“When’s dinner, babes, I’m famished.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well ask David.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not, where is he?”

“Presumably in his cottage.”

“What’s he doing there?”

“I have no idea but he just resigned and stormed out.”

“Why, what did you say to him?”

“I simply asked him if he needed time off.”

“What for, it’s bloody Christmas or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Very funny.”

“You must have provoked him, this is David we’re talking of here.”

“I told you, I asked if he needed time off, given it appears Ingrid left him.”

“Ouch—timing—you women are positively vicious.”

“An’ he just walked.”

“He told me to butt out.”

“Quite right too.”

“Simon, he works for me, I told him he was being insubordinate.”

“And you wonder why he left?”

“If he didn’t I’d have to sack him.”

“What? Who’s gonna cook the dinner at Christmas?”

“Who did it before he came?”

“You did—but...”

“Well then.”

“But his are nicer and...”

“I should hope so he’s a professional.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Look d’you want me to go and talk him round?”

“Feel free.”

Two minutes later he was pulling his coat on to go and see David. Part of me felt I should be furious that no one was supporting me—who was probably going to have to sort the dinner tonight. “David, your timing was perfect—you bastard.”

I’d just about worked out what he was cooking when Si came back in looking pleased with himself.

“So?”

“So, dear girl, he comes back on one condition.”

“He’s making conditions?”

“Yeah, well he wants you to apologise for being wrong.

“What?” I shrieked—I suspect Simon will have hearing problems for several weeks.

“That’s what he said.”

“No chance.”

“Babes, no offence, but I’m thinking of Christmas here—you don’t want to cook dinner then do you?”

“If you think I’m going to give in to blackmail, you’ve got another think coming. He cheeked me, I’m his employer. If he’d care to come to his senses and apologise to me, then I might forgive him and let him continue working here.”

“Cathy, have you gone stark staring mad? This is David, we’re talking about, not some two bit cleaner—the man is a genius.”

“He’s very good, I admit, but he overstepped the mark tonight.”

“Well he’s stressed, especially if Ingrid left him and took Hannah with her.”

“I’ll let him sleep on it, if he apologises tomorrow, he can keep his job.”

“Is that your last word on it?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head and left the kitchen muttering to himself. I accept David was special and I thought he fitted in very well—shows how much I know. I mean, what did I do wrong? I thought I was being a supportive employer, friend even, and he treats me like shit—no way Jose. If I let him do it once, he’ll do it again—I’ll sack him first.

I worked out what he was cooking and changed it to something I could do and quickly. We ate twenty minutes later, a beef goulash with rice and side vegetables. Dinner was rather quiet, almost subdued and I suppose I was a little more snappy than usual.

“Are you really going to let him go?” asked Stella as we cleaned up the kitchen.

“That’s up to him.”

“He’s as stubborn and proud as you—you’re certainly a Cameron, hen.”

“Where’s David?” asked Julie coming back for a coffee.

“He threw a wobbly when I offered to give him a couple of days off—Ingrid has left him.”

“He’ll probably be better off without her, though I think Hannah and he were getting on quite well.”

“I was trying to help and he told me where to go. I told him not to speak to me like he did and he told me in graphic detail where I could deposit my job.”

She smirked then realised it was no laughing matter. “Want me to speak to him?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart, I think it will only antagonise him.”

“How about a pay rise?”

“You’re joking, I might only be a woman but I refuse to be blackmailed by a man.”

“How about a woman?” she joked trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“That’s different...”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow, see if I can get him to come and talk with you—if I do, don’t you dare get on your high horse and spoil it.”

“Please don’t treat me like I have a learning problem, I’m mistress of this house and make the rules, not you, Missy.”

“Suit yourself, I’m off to bed.”

“What about your coffee?”

“F’get it.”

I made some tea and sat and drank it. I would cope, I had to but the prospect of this investigation at the university plus having to cook the meals, could prove the last straw. Time for bed.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2524 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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I slept fitfully, worrying about this thing at the university—why did it have to happen in one of my labs? Why couldn’t it have happened in business or commerce, or even something like media studies—they could have done a documentary on it.

Then David—what had got into him? I remembered when he first came here. He was such a lovely man, he even babysat Catherine so I could go to see the TdF final stage. I couldn’t believe he’d changed so much. I suppose in some ways I was mourning for the man who’d run my kitchen with such efficiency and who I regarded as a friend as much as an employee. I couldn’t let our relationship end like this. Resolving to speak to him in the morning, I finally fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, I had three bodies slip into bed with me. I think it was still dark but I presumed Simon had already gone, so it was probably later than it felt. I dozed for a while before the whispers and giggles woke me. I still felt tired but decided to try and keep my temper as much as I could, after all it wasn’t the girls’ fault I hadn’t slept but my own monkey mind.

After a giggly breakfast which annoyed even Danni, the girls went off to play with Livvie’s Wii. Danni was quite smartly dressed and made up. “Where are you going?”

“I have some shopping to do, can I go to town, Mummy?”

“As long as you’re careful—who are you meeting?”

“Um—Carly an’ Cindy.”

“Have you got some money?”

“I’ve got twenty pounds.” I reached into my bag and gave her another ten. “Cor, thanks, Mum.”

“Just in case you need to buy yourself lunch.”

“You’re the best mum in the world.” She pecked me on the cheek.

“It’s peculiar that you only consider that so after I give you money.”

“Nah, I think it all the time but if I said it, you’d take it for granted, wouldn’t ya?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever take you for granted, especially after your evidence helped me to save Jim’s life.”

“When was that?”

“When Gareth was killed, remember his fake brother?”

“Oh yeah, Gareth had a sister not a brother.”

“Exactly that.”

I’m sure her little chest swelled with pride—if it had got any bigger she’d have popped her bra straps—as she pulled on her coat, redid her lip gloss in the kitchen mirror, grabbed her bag and calling, ‘byee’, she left to catch the bus.

I cleared the kitchen of breakfast debris; I’d only dirtied a cup, my tummy churned too much to eat and I pulled on a cardigan and walked over to David’s cottage. My tummy felt awful as I knocked on the door. I heard some sort of noise from inside and entered.

The curtains were still closed and I drew them open to be able to see anything. David was half sitting, half lying on the settee, several empty bottles of wine were on the floor.

“Oh it’s you,” he said dismissively.

“Coffee?”

“Please,” he almost groaned.

As the kettle boiled I heard him stagger to the bathroom and use the loo. A little later I carried two coffees back to his sitting room, he returned a minute or so later having dressed rather hurriedly. I bet he still had the same underpants on, but I wasn’t going to ask him.

He picked up the black coffee and sipped it, “Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

We sat watching each other like two gunfighters, only I hoped this was going to end peacefully. Whatever the outcome, he’d helped me significantly at different times and I had to let him know that I recognised it. I also had to tell him that I was sad if he did leave, but I’d understand.

Having watched each other we both tried to speak at the same time—just like a duel—but we both fired wide because I suspect we neither of us meant to hurt the other.

“Ladies first,” he invited me, so I had to say my piece giving him time to react or counter anything I said. I’d better just tell the truth and let him do whatever he wants with it.

“I’ve come to say that we’ve both been under a lot of stress recently and perhaps that showed last evening. I was sharp with you because what you said hurt me. I was disappointed because I thought we were friends as well as colleagues and I hope you might reconsider and stay with us.

“I’m grateful for all the help and support you’ve given me over the couple of years you’ve been here, which I really appreciate although I might not have said it as often as I could. You’ve also been an inspiration in our kitchen and I know all the others would miss you dreadfully if you went.

“If you do decide to go, I won’t try to stop you and will give you a very good reference, I’ll also give you a month’s pay in lieu of any outstanding holidays. If you do go, I hope you’ll be happy in a new job and remember us with affection.”

He looked at the floor most of the time I spoke only looking up when I stopped.

“Damn you,” he said and I felt a shudder go through me, but he also shook. “I was determined I wasn’t going to cry—look at me—real macho man, not.” He grabbed a piece of toilet roll he was obviously using as tissue paper and wiped his eyes and nose.

“I don’t know what came over me yesterday. You’re probably the best employer I’ve ever known by far, you’ve also been a great friend and support—remember my brother?”

I did and we both smiled.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you, talk about biting the hand that feeds you, but for some reason the fact that you had Simon and I had no one, and you offering me time off just caught me wrong, as if you were gloating. I know you didn’t mean it like that, but that’s how I took it, an’ feeling down and not sleepin’ too well—sorry, I was out of line an’ if you want me to move on I will.”

“What would you like to do?” I asked.

“Me? Get Ingrid an’ Hannah back an’ stay here looking after you lot, my second family.”

“I don’t know about Ingrid and Hannah, but I’d like to second the rest of that statement.”

“They’ve gone—had a card from Hannah, saying she missed me but Ingrid was never going to change her mind and come back. Story of my life, I s’pose.”

“Does she do facebook?”

“What good is that to me, haven’t got a computer?”

“No but we have, and I have probably half a dozen girls who could show you how to access it, set up your own page and hopefully keep in touch with Hannah.”

“I think I’d like that, at least I could still share in her life a little.”

“After dinner, assuming you’re going to make one for us, I’ll ask Trish to help you get started.”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Friends again?” I said standing and offering my hand.

“Yeah, friends again.”

I also knew what to buy him for Christmas.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2525 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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David came back to the house a little after I did, he looked a bit pasty but he was smiling. I was relieved, partly because he’s a much better cook than I am, partly because I’d have had to cover his absence and mostly because I was fond of him, he was pretty well one of the family.

I surrendered the kitchen to him and took my mug of tea into the study. I had survey stuff to do—I always have survey stuff to do. An email from Dan told me they completed the building of the study centre—we had a delay when the first contractor went bust—and a second was difficult to recruit. Apparently they were now doing interior fitments and decorating. It would open in the spring and word had it that Henry had managed to convince HRH, The Prince of Wales to show his green credentials. The fact that he seems to be building on half of Dorset, doesn’t appear too credible to me, but I’ll try and be available if he does come.

Drinking my tea, I pondered on our murder mystery. Was it a locked room mystery? Yes and no. The door was locked but any one of a couple of dozen people could have the combination to open it. Okay, they have to get into the building first and that requires a smart card. So the police will have lists of the people using the building on the day before. Perhaps I should avail myself of one? I know I shouldn’t interfere but it was my department.

It’s so easy to imagine, probably in error, what happened. My favourites were he was surprised by someone who was burgling the place or he’s was doing something illegal and fell out with another ne’er do well, who killed him. I had no evidence for any of them, other than he was killed by a bash on the bonce.

If I’d thought about it. I should have touched him—I might have seen who hit him. Anyway, it’s up to the police to sort out, if they get stuck and tell them to contact Trish. She watched some TV programme about Quantum biology and reckons she might want to do that after she’s solved the problem of nuclear fusion, designed a spacecraft to travel to Mars or even further, and finished her Christmas shopping. Just as well she has another two weeks of holiday to do all that.

She was trying to explain how European robins who spend summer in the far north migrate to Spain for the winter. “It’s all quantum, Mummy.”

“I thought they flew.”

“They do.”

“Well then—problem solved.”

“No, silly Mummy, how do they navigate?”

“Sat nav?” I suggested.

“No, it’s quantum, they have red and green balls whizzing round their heads an’ it’s to do with their eyes.”

“Well yes, it would be. If you blindfold them they would fly into things.”

“No, these balls connect faster than light.”

“I didn’t think anything was faster than light.”

“A robin’s balls are, Mummy.” I’d have to think about that.

“An’ tadpoles are quantum too, their college gum dissolves and their tails grow into legs.” So how come we don’t have five legged frogs?

“You don’t perchance mean collagen?”

“I might, what about photo-something or other, that leaves do.”

“Photosynthesis?”

“Could be, anyway in the leaves there’s corn plasters and the light hits them and they send waves of energy everywhere at the same time.” Corn plasters? I wonder if she means chloroplasts?

“Then there’s proton tunnelling, these balls go through like walls.”

“What was that related to?”

“I can’t remember, but it was good oh an’ smells make your nose vibrate.”

“That must be what Daddy is doing when he sleeps, he must be smelling things.”

“I thought he was snoring?”

“Ah but is it quantum snoring?”

“It’s all to do with enzymes.”

“What is?”

“The quantum stuff. I got it a bit mixed up, Mummy, but it was very good.”

“I’m sure it was, who did it, Professor Cox?”

“No, some baldy bloke called Professor Jim something or other.”

“Jim, Al khalili?”

“Yeah, how come you know him?”

“I’m a professor, too, Trish, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You know him?”

“I met him once at a universities conference thing, he does stuff on physics and maths on telly and radio.”

“I know that, Mummy, I watched him.”

I looked up the programme on the BBC iPlayer and saw it was available until Christmas, I told her if I had time we could watch it together and I’d try and help her understand it, assuming I understood it first. It’s only quantum physics—no pressure then. Perhaps I should have asked Si to watch it with her, though he doesn’t do biology, except to practice procreation at every opportunity.

I sent him a text asking him if he could get a cheap laptop for David for Christmas. He sent me one back saying they had some spare ones in IT, he’d have Sammi, check one out for David. Apparently her latest love has disappeared so she’d be home for Christmas sometime after lunch on Christmas Eve.

I assumed she’d be back anyway but no one had said anything for several days. She’s been staying at Simon’s flat in town, he comes home most nights, I suspect to give her some space. She desperately wants to find a man and settle down, but it’s a bit like Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, the more certain she tries to make it, the less chance she has—one of Trish’s parrot boxes. Pity, because she’s a lovely kid, very beautiful with a figure to die for, but I suspect she frightens the boys away, she’s too intense and possibly too full on.

Julie seems to have given up the idea of boyfriends for the moment. It doesn’t seem that long ago she declared she was lesbian, then proceeded to have a few boyfriends and flirt with every man she met—very lesbian, not. Anyway that’s up to them.

Sammi was looking at flats or houses to buy, but has since decided to buy herself a flash car—a BMW Z4 or something, she called it a roadster, so she might drive down on Christmas Eve, or get Simon to do it for her. I think I would, roads will be ridiculous.

This year, I get a distinct impression that no one will be safe on the roads, so many old folk still driving and doing so very slowly—their eyesight and reactions slow with age. But youngsters drive too quickly and despite quick reactions, they have no experience and some very few brain cells. So perhaps I’ll try and persuade Simon to abort the road trip. I can always see her car in the new year.

Damn, I told David I’d get Trish to start him on Facebook, I’d better go and ask her—Is this ordinary FB or quantum FB? Life in the fast lane I yawned—nah.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2526 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Christmas was fast approaching and I had to mobilise the troops. Jacquie and I managed to manhandle the tree in place using a pot mover—a triangular thing with castors on it. Liv and Trish got the plastic sheet down and thankfully the large saucer in which it sits was relatively free of snails and woodlice. I did give it some extra water and charged the three girls with decorating it—Danni going up to the attic to get the baubles and lights. Jacquie and Meems hung up various other decorations and I dashed off with Cate to do some last minute shopping.

Sammi would be home this afternoon, it will be good to see her. I began to think she was getting ready to fly the nest, but not just yet. It’s crazy, she’s been post op less than the others, yet she’s the one who has all the boyfriends, though none seem to hang around once she starts talking about settling down. Least I hope that’s they go not because of something else, if you get my drift. She’s a really beautiful girl, with a cracking figure, so she shouldn’t be short of admirers.

Mind you Julie is very pretty and she can’t keep a boy either. Perhaps they didn’t learn that part of courtship, my two elder girls, how to retain a boy’s interest. In which case, perhaps I need to find a tutor for them, if there is such a thing. I’m no help, Simon wasn’t exactly difficult to attract and he’s stuck to me like chewing gum ever since, I really don’t know why, as he must have been one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. I don’t know why he found me attractive let alone fell in love with me, but that’s what happened and I fell in love with him not long after. That he knows about my past and says it doesn’t matter, is extraordinary. But then Simon is one in several million.

I rushed round the shops dragging Cate in my wake, not quite, I dashed about using her pushchair as a battering ram to get through crowds who stop to have conferences in the middle of pavements or aisles in shops.

Have you noticed how drivers just ignore no entry signs or large arrows painted on the roads in shop carparks. Some idiot bloke tried to run me over as I crossed a car park, he’d come through a no entry sign and was against the flow of traffic but it didn’t concern him or seemingly when I swore at him and called him a dickhead.

Personally, people who drive like that should be made to undergo another driving test and not allowed to drive by themselves until they pass the test again. On the way home, we got cut up by some creep in a—four by four who pushed past regardless of space available. It was only because I didn’t want to damage my vehicle, that I let him go, plus, I had Cate in the back of the car and I didn’t want her hurt by some moronic motorist.

Shopping over, we rushed home and ate the baguettes David had made for us with salmon and cucumber, but they were masterpieces and I was hungry. Cate tore into hers as well then spat it out because the crust was hard. Kiki did quite well out of her throwing food on the floor, which she continued to do despite my telling her to stop. In the end, I smacked her because she was wilfully ignoring me. Amazingly, after a tap on her leg she behaved herself a little more and she ate her roll properly. Unsurprisingly the dog seemed disappointed.

I didn’t hear Sammi arrive as I was pushing a vacuum cleaner about and humping furniture out of the way to clean under it. She patted me on the shoulder and I jumped out of my skin, switched off the Dyson and we laughed as we hugged and kissed each other. It was funny that while she was up in London this time, I tried not to think about her too much because I worry. Now she was with me again, I felt such joy and relief—she was safe and home again. My family was complete, such as it was.

She went and changed and I finished my vacuuming, then we settled down with a cuppa for a good old chinwag.

At four, Julie and Phoebe arrived and Simon who’d stopped off at some shops somewhere to get a few last minute things.

David did sausage and mash for dinner. Did I mention that we got a potato peeling machine for him which allowed him more time to prepare meals rather than potatoes. He still had to de-eye them, but that only took a fraction of the time that peeling did.

Everyone tucked into the meal with peas and onion gravy—that guaranteed some sound effects in bed from Simon, but it was okay, I’d bought a gas mask from ebay. I didn’t plan on sleeping in it, just making him aware of the other side of the flatulence line.

The girls needed some help to finish the tree so Sammi went to assist them. Si showed me the laptop he’d brought for David which Sammi had agreed to set up for him. We have fibre-optic broadband so if he wanted to, he could use our wi-fi to get on the internet.

Mima helped me put up the cards on ribbons and then it was time to send them to bed. I took them and read them a chapter or two of a Gaby story and they went off to sleep quite quickly. They’d all worked like Trojans, so I suspect they were quite tired.

I noticed Sammi, Julie and Phoebe were absent and upon enquiring, discovered they were wrapping Christmas presents from Simon to everyone else. Effectively they were wrapping each others. I wished I’d thought of that, I did my own. Simon always manages to wriggle out of things—except, tomorrow, I told him we needed some logs sawn—and he’s the strongest in the family, so he gets the job. He wasn’t exactly pleased, and his previous helpmates, Danny or Leon, were indisposed. Leon was still in the army somewhere and Danny had succumbed to a large dose of oestrogens and become his daughter Danielle. She was still up for things, but she’d lost quite a bit of muscle mass so I wasn’t having her hurting herself to save him a bit of exercise. Hopefully, it would do him good, we did have both a chainsaw and circular saw embedded in a table, plus of course a bow saw and a felling axe.

Danni could help him collect up the sawn or chopped logs but she wasn’t to carry anything too heavy—last thing we needed was a prolapsed or other injury.

Julie and Sammi were going to help David in the kitchen and Daddy and I were going to slip up to the cemetery with the flowers I had stored in the shed, to keep them cool. It was part of our annual ritual and I hoped one day I might catch sight of Billie again. Sometimes I think I feel her around but I’m not sure.

Perhaps Trish will walk with us.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2527 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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After breakfast at which everyone appeared, we did the usual present swapping. Everything was under or beside the tree. David had been invited to breakfast and he arrived with a bag full of presents for everyone. He was delighted when he opened up the laptop, mind you it was quite a nice one.

Once the frenzy was over, I lit the fire and Simon set off to saw some logs, Danielle went with him and promised not to try and lift anything heavy. David had his helpers and once I saw the fire had caught, I nabbed Trish and Livvie and together with Daddy and his dopey spaniel we set off towards the cemetery.

The sun was shining and I looked forward to longer and warmer days, although we’d still have dark mornings for a week or two because of the wobble of the earth’s axis. We heard several robins singing and passed several blackbirds squabbling, presumably over boundaries of territories. Wrapped up with hats and scarves and gloves the girls were warm, only pink noses showing the coldness of the light breeze. I felt wonderful looking at the blueness of the sky and tried to avoid looking near the sun as it was bright and clear and dazzled.

At the grave we collected the old vase and emptied it, washing it out before filling it with water and then clipping the stalks of the flowers, we arranged them in the vase and Daddy placed it on the grave. We stepped back a few yards to give him some space but he called us back and we all held hands in front of the grave. For a moment, a mere split second I saw what looked like a twinkling or sparkling beside the grave. I knew what it was and felt a warmth inside me which raised my spirits. We all said Merry Christmas in our own way and we turned and walked back towards home.

“Did you see her?” asked Trish as she caused me to lag behind a little way.

“I saw something.”

“Oh good, she liked the flowers and so did Nanny Celia and Auntie Catherine.”

“That’s good. Did you see them all?”

“Nah, but Billie said they did.”

“I expect so, c’mon, let’s go and help David and the others.”

“I love my bangles, Mummy,” she jingled them to prove it. “An’ my new coat is ace.” I bought her a Barbour coat and hat—a small fortune, but what she wanted.

All too soon were back at the ranch and Danni was stacking logs in the lounge, where the fire was burning up beautifully. “Aye, ye licht a guid fire, lassie, sae it’s easy tae see whaur ye’ll be gang.”

“I don’t believe in heavens or hells, just what you make of this life, which is all we know we have. For some life is hell, but I do what I can, when I can to help.”

“Aye, we ken a’ aboot it.”

I doubted he knew the half of it, but that might be just as well.

Danni was taking the empty basket out for Si to fill with more logs when she rushed back in, “There’s a copper in the drive,” she hissed to me. I glanced down the driveway and Andy Bond was almost running up it towards the house.

“Looks important,” said Julie slicing cabbage.

“Is your mother there,” he asked Danni who stood at the doorway.

“Muuum,” she yelled and I wiped my hands and went to deal with the breathless copper.

“Cathy,” he puffed, “You’ve got to help.”

“Help who? What’s happened Andy?”

“It’s Margaret...”

“Your wife, Margaret?”

He nodded, too puffed to speak.

“Where is she?”

“QA, she’s had a heart attack—she’s going to die. Please help her.”

“Let me get my coat.” I dashed indoors and Jacquie handed it to me along with my bag. As I donned my coat, Jingle bells Cameron, arrived clad in coat and panda head hat. “Where are you going?”

“With you, if you behave I’ll let you help,” and before I could say anything she was trotting down the drive to the police car. I jogged along behind them.

“When’d it happen?” I asked as Andy drove like a demon blue lights flashing as we went.

“Hour ago, she phoned me and said she felt queer and I heard her fall. I called the ambulance and got there as it did. She’d arrested but they restarted her heart and got her to A&E. She looked really ill and the doc in charge said to send for my family, she’d not long to go. You’re my only hope, Cathy.”

“I’ll do my best, Andy.”

“An’ me,” piped a voice from behind me.

“We’ll do our best, kiddo.” I said and touched his arm.

“God, that was hot,” he said.

“What?” I enquired.

“Your hand, burned all the way up my arm.”

He stopped the car and we went into ICU, where he seemed to think she was. He was quite correct and the cardiologist was standing by the bed. “Oh it’s you,” he said and I pointed to the bed. “Be my guest,” he said shaking his head.

I sat in a chair by the side of the bed and held one of Margaret’s hands. “Hello, Margaret, I’m Cathy, a friend of Andy’s, I’m here to help you feel better.” The doctor still standing behind me cleared his throat as if in doubt of what I’d said. He should know better.

“I’m Trish,” said our resident genius, “an’ I’m with my mum, watch for the blue light, take it away, Mummy.”

“Trish, please.”

“Aw, Mummy.”

“Please.”

“Oh all right.”

“Thank you. Margaret, just listen to my voice and watch for the light which will be blue or white.”

“Blue,” interrupted Trish, but a glance from me shut her up.

“Look for an intense light which should be with you now.” I felt her squeezing my hand with whatever strength she had left. “Just relax and follow the light and my voice and I’ll bring you home safely.

The fibrillation began to slow and the machine registered a slow but steady bleep. I heard footsteps behind me, “How’s she doing?” asked Andy’s voice.

“Hush,” said the doctor, “this is fascinating.”

“Okay, Margaret, we’ve stabilised things, you’re on board, just relax and think of how much better you’re going to feel in a short time, just stay with me and listen to my voice only, pay no attention to anything else unless I tell you to and I promise I’ll get you home safely, okay?”

She squeezed my hand again.

“Now you might feel hot or cold or possibly both up your left arm and into your chest. I’m sorry if it feels uncomfortable but it’s necessary to help you, so bear with me for a few minutes. It will stop and you will get better.”

With one hand I held her hand with my other I ran my index and second finger up her arm slowly pressing on the skin quite hard. I heard her moan gently and a voice behind say, “Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.” I continued my digital pressure up her arm and across her chest. She gasped opened her eyes and passed out. Andy gasped behind me.

“Stay with me, Margaret, not long to go. Trish, do her right arm.”

“’Kay, Mummy.” She copied what she’d seen me do.

“I’m going to need a receiver, doctor.”

“What? Oh right.”

“Be ready when she sits up.”

“Eh?”

“Right, Margaret, up you get.” She opened her eyes and I helped her sit up. “Doctor, the receiver.”

“Here it is, where would you like it.”

“Hold it in front of her mouth, you nit.”

“Yeah, okay.”

With that and to the cardiologist’s disgust she began to vomit into the flimsy paper dish he held. It was thick creamy and pink goo and I could feel him trying to control his own urge to vomit as well.

Suddenly she stopped and fell back on the bed. “I can breathe now," she said closing her eyes and sleeping.

A nurse took the receiver from the cardiologist. “Was that what I think it was?”

“LDL.” I offered.

“How on earth did you clear that out of her arteries and into her stomach?”

“With difficulty.” I answered.

“That was amazing, you must let us study you, it could save thousands of lives.”

“And destroy mine, sorry Doc, we have to go, so does your memory of this event.”

“What?”

While he stood bemused Trish and I crept away. “Nurse, call high dependency, we have a transfer for them. She’s over the worst, Mr Bond, the drugs seem to have dispersed the clot.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“They haven’t got a clue have they, Mummy?”

“I hope not, c’mon, I’ve just rung home, Sammi’s coming to get us.”

“In her new car?”

“I hope not, it’s a two seater.”

“That’s okay, Mummy, you said you didn’t do enough walking...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2528 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Sammi collected us in the Mondeo so I didn’t have to walk home and by the time we arrived back at the farmhouse, David was practically ready to dish up. Trish was miffed that Danni had laid the table, she was also miffed that Danni was wearing blue nail varnish to compliment her blue skirt and top—she’d obviously changed after we went to the hospital. I think everyone had except Trish and I, so we asked David to give us ten minutes to nip upstairs and change into something better than the clothes we’d worn to do chores.

I grabbed Trish’s hand and whisked her upstairs, “Wear your red dress, sweetheart,” I called to her as I steered her towards the bedroom. She nodded and disappeared into her room, while I walked smartly into mine.

I stripped off to my undies squirted some eau de toilette in interesting places and did some eyeliner and mascara, then lipstick. I slipped into a red top and the red and black skirt that Stella had given me that first day Simon had met me, then the red boots, now looking a little worse for wear. A necklace, bracelet and watch, a change of earrings to my crystal drop ones, a quick adjustment of my hair and I was ready.

Trish emerged the same time as I did, “That’s better, girl,” I said to her.

“You look nicer, too, Mummy.”

“Well we can’t let the side down now, can we?”

“Certainly not,” she said in a voice that I’m sure shows she’s a distant relative of Dame Edith Evans, or maybe just Lady Bracknell. I love that play but I won’t say anything in case Sister Maria gets to hear of it.

We made a grand entrance curtseying as they all clapped—Trish has to work on hers but mine, albeit greatly exaggerated—shall we say it was as theatrical as a fire curtain, went down a storm. Si assisted me to my seat and we all sat quietly while Daddy did his Selkirk grace:
‘Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,

And sae let the Lord be thankit.’

The plates of fresh carved turkey were passed round the table and we helped ourselves to vegetables and gravy. I gave Cate some of hers in the high chair and Jacquie looked after Lizzie, while Stella aided by Meems fed her two in high chairs.

For a change we had Prosecco di Conegliano spumante, the dry fizzy Italian wine which always reminds me of the Commissario Brunetti stories by Donna Leon. I proposed a toast to absent friends and we paused for a moment, then Si did one to the chef, who stood and bowed while we all applauded. Okay, by this time we’d had three or four bottles of the fizzy stuff and only the children remained stone cold sober. Danielle had been allowed a small glass after which she had to make do with ginger ale, the same as the other girls who thought they were getting something alcoholic.

After the girls left the table the door bell rang and Henry and Monica arrived laden with gifts especially for the children, including the older ones. I wasn’t expecting anything but he presented me with a bottle of my favourite perfume, Coco, and this was the perfume not the eau de toilette. I kissed him on the cheek and once again he said, “Dump dumbo and run away with me, Cathy.”

“Okay,” I said tired of the way he says it all the time.

“Uh—right...”

Monica came over and we hugged, “Is he being silly again, he’s had a couple of drinks.”

“No more than usual, “ I replied.

“I’m sure I could make you a better offer, you know, Cathy.” They all laughed as I suddenly remembered I had something urgent to do and I realised I’d been had. I went off to make teas and coffees in the kitchen. I heard footsteps behind me and the door closing.

I switched on the kettle and saw Simon approaching reflected in the kettle, I let him put his arms around me from behind and gently squeeze my breasts. “Is that the outfit you wore that day at the cottage?”

“I’m impressed you remembered. Careful, I’ll get milk coming through my top.”

“I fell in love wth you that day, d’you know that?”

“How could you, I was still a work in progress—in fact just begun.”

“You had something about you.”

“Yeah, sheer bloody terror.”

He kissed me on the back of my neck and it made my tummy flip over. “No, it was—innocence, female innocence. No wonder you played the Virgin Mary in the school play, you must have been closer to it than almost anyone else your age.”

“Yeah, well I was hardly likely to have been sexually experienced as a girl, was I?”

“I meant your innocence and purity.”

“What pretending to be something I wasn’t?”

“You weren’t pretending and if I hear the b word again, I’m going to get very cross.”

I felt myself getting rather warm. “The kettle’s boiled,” I said quickly moving away from him to gather mugs from the cupboard.

“Here let me give you a hand, how many of each is there?”

I was just about to carry a tray into the dining room when the doorbell rang. “Who’s that?” I said to Simon.

“How do I know?” he fired back.

A moment later Trish appeared, “It’s the police, Mummy.”

I left the tray and went to the door. Andy Bond was standing there with a bunch of flowers. “Come in, Andy, how is Margaret?”

“She’s going to be okay thanks to you.”

“I had help, you know.”

“Yes from Trish, I know, I got her some chocolates. Here these are for you. I’ll never be able to repay you for saving her, never...”

“There’s no charge, Andy; I did it for you because I like you and respect you. You’re a good man—now have you eaten?”

“I’m too anxious to eat.”

“Nonsense, David, can you knock something up for Andy, he missed lunch.” I called to the dining room. David strolled out.

“Yeah, plenty of leftovers, won’t take a minute to do.” So it was that Andy Bond had Christmas dinner at our house while I arranged the flowers he brought me and Trish and the girls squabbled over the chocolates he gave her.

I sat with him as we drank a cuppa afterwards. “You really are an angel, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, fallen variety,” I chuckled.

“Don’t demean yourself, Cathy, you are closer to God than anyone else I’ve met, and I’ve met a fair few, I can tell you, including clergy men of all denominations.”

“It might seem ironic that I don’t believe then.”

“You don’t have to, to be godly, Cathy, it’s how you live not what you believe.”

“Just as well then, isn’t it.”

“Thank you once again, St Catherine,” was his parting shot after he called goodbye to the rest of them. I stood in the gathering gloom and waved him off, he was a good man, too.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2529 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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We watched the ‘Boy in the dress,’ David Walliams attempt to make cross dressing more acceptable. The girls loved it, I wasn’t so sure, but I suppose anything which increases tolerance has got to be good. It’s also aimed at children so I suppose had a relatively simple storyline of the hero in a dress, the wearing of the dress not making him any less of a man—okay, not exactly my experience of wearing female clothing but who’s to say it isn’t that of others; perhaps someone in Walliams’ acquaintance.

Sadly, Danielle, who is equally if not more talented than the boy in the dress, at football, would be a different story. To all intents and purposes she is now female so can’t easily revert back to being a man or even boy, thanks to her little psycho friend, she’s never going to be able to function as male again. Quite what that does to her life, remains to be seen—I only hope that it doesn’t mess it up too much for her. At the moment she understands that she could play for England schoolgirls and then possibly for England women. It might be a better opportunity than had she stayed as a boy to win an England cap and she understands that.

I’m aware that this is a distraction or compensation for the loss of her manhood, which I doubt she’d have done voluntarily so we might have troubles to face in the future. Otherwise she’s an amazing young woman and since throwing herself into the role—she enjoyed playing at it before—she seems to have blossomed. Being a realist, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, but while this era of femininity lasts, I’ll help her enjoy it if I can. I don’t have the worry of her becoming pregnant, but there are still plenty of worries about her, as I have with the other girls.

David said he enjoyed his Christmas; I hope wasn’t just being polite. At least he can surf the net to his heart’s content or look for Hannah on Fb, which was his declared aim. I have some understanding of his reason. Hannah was the closest thing he had to a child of his own. I don’t know if spending part of his life as female made his need to ‘have’ a child to parent, preferably as a father. I know he has been brilliant with mine most of the time, so he certainly has a skill with youngsters. So he builds a relationship with Hannah whose experience of paternal roles was of a bully who beat both her and her mother, so someone like David could show her it’s not the only one. I also hoped that some interaction with Daddy and Simon could also convey that there are positive things about men as well. Simon and I possibly saved her life the day her so called father came with some thuggish friends to teach us all a lesson. I shot two with my bow and arrows (like cock sparrow) and Simon marmalised the other one, knocking him senseless with two bone crunching punches.

That happened near Christmas, two years ago—could it be that long? It must be I recently came across the receipts for the computer I gave Hannah, which I presume she’s still using.

I feel sorry for David and Hannah, less so for Ingrid as her decision upset three lives, though I wasn’t privy to her reasons for going other than she’d found herself a job. David doesn’t say much, it might be as yet too raw for him to deal with at the moment, or being a bloke he might prefer not to talk—least of all to me, a woman, or he might open up. I have no idea. He knows we all support and love him, so we can’t really do anything else except to give him the space he wants or needs or be there if he does want to talk.

Boxing Day started fine and then it positively peed down. I won’t say it rained hard but we had a couple of ducks knock the door seeking shelter. Henry advised me that the project up in Scotland for the nature reserve had been put on hold, awaiting the results of the project in Hampshire. That was behind schedule but was approaching completion of the visitor centre construction. Dan was keeping me up to date on all things there and I knew I could trust him. The university seemed to have stepped back and left it up to us to say when we needed their input and the bank seemed happy with what I passed on to them from Dan’s reports.

I was in my study after breakfast when I happened to glance at the calendar. To my horror, I realised Danni’s weekend training camp was the next day. I called her to the study.

“Wassup, Mummy?”

“What day is it tomorrow?”

“Uh—dunno, somebody’s birthday?”

“No, try again.”

“Um—yesterday was—um—Thursday—so it’s Friday today, Sat-a-dee, yeah thass what it is.”

I sighed, “Right, so what is supposed to happen tomorrow?”

“I dunno, but the week after is that football camp thingy.”

“The last weekend of the year?”

“Yeah, why.”

“Look at the calendar.”

“Oh shi—ugar, what we gonna do, Mummy?”

“Go and get the letter they sent you.”

“I thought you had it.”

“No, it was addressed to you, so I gave it back to you.”

“Well I dunno where it is, do I?”

“As long as you haven’t thrown it out, it has to be here somewhere.”

“You sure you in’t got it?”

“If I did, it would be stuck on the notice board next to the calendar. Go and check your bedroom.” She shot off almost before I finished speaking, and I strolled upstairs behind her. On reaching her bedroom I watched as she completely knotted her knickers in a frenzy of searching which was so adrenalin driven she wouldn’t have been able to find her own bed.

She sat down on the bed amidst a total mess of clothes, books, makeup, papers and magazines—together with chocolate wrappers, empty drinks cans, CDs and used tissues. She had her head in her hands and was close to bursting into tears. She still hadn’t noticed me. I was trying to remember what the envelope and its contents looked like, having only seen them once.

Poking out from under a pile of glossy women’s mags was a semi familiar envelope. I walked across the blitzed bedroom crunching some loose crisps as I did. Reaching under the magazines I drew out the envelope and sure enough it was the missing correspondence. I waved it in front of her.

“Oh, Mummy, you had it all the time—I nearly had heart failure.”

“No, it was under those glossies.”

“Was it, I thought I looked there.”

“Obviously you didn’t. Right, we’ll go downstairs and read through it all again, then you can come back up here and tidy all this mess.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I mean it, young lady, if you don’t clear up this mess you’ll stay here tomorrow and do it instead of going to Wembley or wherever it is.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You’re not listening, Danielle.”

“C’mon, what have I gotta pack?”

I took a deep breath and descended the stairs. If she survived the next few minutes she’d probably reach old age, but it wasn’t a certainty by any means and she was beginning to really annoy me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2530 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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We read the invitation together, it required Danielle to be at the Madejski Stadium, the home of Reading FC. They have a successful ladies team and they would be helping to coach and select the best candidates. The letter reminded us that this was a soccer training camp with a view to spotting future England ladies players and guaranteed nothing other than a chance to move on to the next stage. It was for the weekend twenty seventh and eighth of December, commencing at ten o’clock. Then there was a list of things to take with them, plus casual clothes. It cost one hundred pounds for board and lodgings, which included all refreshments during the day as well. Those in hardship could apply for a grant and so on.

I made sure that she understood the reality. It wasn’t an England training camp, but one run by coaches who if she was good enough would move her on to the next level. I pointed out that there may be several of those before an England cap arose. She said she understood but I wasn’t sure had, she was too excited. Oh to be young and optimistic.

I helped her pack and then made lunch while she tried to clear some of the mess in her bedroom. I brought her bag downstairs while she shovelled stuff into black bin bags. Lunch was soup and rolls and it went down well. The weather was wet but it promised to be cold but dry for the weekend, at least in the south, snow was forecast further north. Thankfully, that meant the Midlands northwards, so Reading should stay clear, though with our luck, it probably wouldn’t.

I checked that Danni had packed football boots and trainers, some shirts, shorts and socks, plus enough panties to last the weekend. I also packed some chocolate, crisps and apples. The letter I made her place in her handbag, which was a backpack type.

The rest of the day flew by and I agreed with Si that I’d take her but he would collect her on Sunday evening at six. How Danni or I slept, I’ll never know—possibly through exhaustion—but I woke in plenty of time to have a reasonable breakfast before driving north to Reading.

Allowing plenty of time, we set off westwards along the M27 to the M3 junction at Eastleigh. We followed the motorway and its increasing traffic to Basingstoke, where we took the A33 up to Reading passing the M4 a mile after which we turned off to the Madejski Stadium, the home of Reading FC. Despite the heavy traffic, presumably caused by looters—sorry bargain hunters going to the sales. I can’t stand the crowds and being alternately obstructed and bustled by complete strangers who have few if any manners and even fewer functioning brain cells.

I appreciate I’m able to afford all I need so sales are somewhat irrelevant to me. I know the girls like them, getting a bargain seems to be almost part of the British psyche or is that just the Scot in them? Um, I keep forgetting they’re not my natural children but ones we’ve chosen to live with us or who needed us.

After parking the car and helping her with her bag, I accompanied Danni to the registration point under the stadium. I’d forgotten how big some of these places are, with all sorts of facilities as well as the main football pitch and spectator seating, of which they claimed 21,000 seats. I declined to count them.

We checked her name off the list and she was given card with her name on which she had to produce for everything, the classes and her hotel, so not to lose it. I suggested nailing it to her head—although she’d probably call us tomorrow and say she’d lost that as well.

She was nearly in tears when she kissed me goodbye, she was excited but scared to death. I surreptitiously surrounded her in blue stuff, wished her a great weekend, asked her to behave but also to enjoy herself and do her best. If she did that, win or lose, she’d have tried and had some fun. It would also be something to tell her school mates and her sisters, who were all excited for her.

I managed to buy a cuppa before heading back to Portsmouth. The journey back was awful. People were either shopping or returning home from their Christmas holidays and consequently it was like an all day rush hour. It took two and a half hours to get home. David had done jacket spuds so kept me one in the cool oven of the Aga which I filled with tuna, some mayonnaise and some salad—I’m consistent in some areas. Washed down I felt fit for...running away to sleep? I got nabbed by various children, some might even have been my own—two of them had friends in, who were apparently gobsmacked to see me breastfeeding in my own kitchen without my boob being covered up. Everything is so sanitised these days and it is my house, so I’ll do what I deem acceptable.

At dinner we all talked about our missing athlete hoping she was having a good time. I got a text soon after telling me she thought it was, ‘totally brill.’ So that’s okay.

On Saturday night I lay there worrying about her while Simon tuned his jet engine. Quite how he can sleep almost anywhere at any time, baffles me and that’s with me admitting to being an obsessional neurotic, nah, I just worry a little bit—like all night on a bad day—eh? I know what I mean, I think—do I care? Obviously.

On the Sunday, I did the Observer cryptic crossword before the others got up—it was six o’clock and I couldn’t sleep any longer, I was so worried about Danni. She looked so young compared to some of the other girls—some of them had tattoos—on an under fifteen training camp?

Having flagellated my remaining conscious brain cell with the crossword, I had to do it on line as the paper doesn’t usually appear until mid-morning on a Sunday, and I felt like going back to bed. Instead, I’d agreed to take the three mouseketeers for a bike ride—yeah, I know—it’s white with frost outside and we’ll probably need some sort of device to repel polar bears.

Listening to the news—it was Christmas—a passenger jet was missing, there was a fire on a ferry somewhere near Italy, and thousands of people were trapped in snow in the Alps—duh—like you wouldn’t really expect snow at a mountain ski resort in winter, would you? Are people worldwide stupid? It would appear so, some being dumber than others.

The girls must have woken and realised I was up as they came rushing downstairs like two legged avalanches, reminding me I’d promised to take them riding. They obviously hadn’t seen the frost or hadn’t recognised how it can make roads icy and slippery. The first time you lose your back wheel and get deposited on a cold and very hard road surface—you remember and then try to avoid it ever after—except you never do.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2531 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Simon set off to collect Danielle, but not before grumbling that he had better things to do than sit in bloody traffic. I wasn’t going to relieve his responsibility, he’d said that if i took her, he’d collect her. He wanted to use my car and when I asked for his keys in case I needed a car, he stormed off in his Jag. I threw some blue light at him in the hope that he calmed down.

While he was gone I made some tea for the rest of the rabble and put some aside for Simon, Danni and myself. I’d wait and eat with them, hoping by then, Simon’s temper would have abated. At about six, when Si should have been collecting our daughter I was dishing up jacket potatoes and cheese for the rest of the litter and assorted others.

I’d just dished up the food and put those for Si, Danni and me in the Aga when a car drove up the drive and out got Andy Bond. He knocked on the door and I invited him in. I made teas and he thanked me again for saving his wife. I shrugged, it was what I was able to do sometimes. As we drank our teas I asked what the real reason was for coming.

He blushed. “Is Danni about?”

“No, she’s being collected from Reading FC, she’s been having a trial for England Schoolgirls.”

“That’s wonderful news, I hope she’s successful.”

“It’s the first of several stages but she might just make it.”

“Well good luck to her, she deserves some recognition for her footie skills.”

“Have you seen her play then?”

“As a boy, I saw him destroy another school in a cup game—until she was taken out by a real nasty foul.”

“It happens in women’s games too. For teams who haven’t played her before, she has to try and do the damage in the first half because in the second they mark her tighter than a corset, which means they forget about other strikers and sometimes other girls score instead or Danni acts as decoy.”

“What did you want her for?”

“Her little friend, Peter or whatever he calls himself these days, is being discharged tomorrow.”

“What you mean he or she will be home tomorrow?”

“I presume so.”

“How come, I thought she was remanded indefinitely?”

“The weakness of such sentences are that if they are deemed safe to return to ordinary life by the doctor in charge of the unit, they can apply for parole or even discharge.”

“Can I apply for a restraining order?”

“You shouldn’t need one, if she comes near Danni call the police, we’ll arrest her, you did say, her?”

“Last seen was calling herself Pia and living as an eccentric girl.”

“You know more about that sort of thing than I do.”

“I don’t know if do, Andy.”

“You could hardly know less.”

“It was my fault that Danny stayed friendly with Peter after the assault in France, especially when he cut off his genitals.”

“What d’you mean your fault?”

“I felt very sorry for the child and knew that life was going to be difficult for him especially after his self castration, so I suggested that we try to help him by staying friends.”

“And he returned your generosity by giving your lad a sex change?”

“No that was Mick O’Rourke, but Peter did a skilful dissection, leaving O’Rourke little room for manoeuvre.”

“And Danni just sat there and let him?”

“No, he used chloroform on him.”

“It was premeditated then?”

“I think so.”

“Do they know why he did it to your boy?”

“I have no idea, but they were acting strangely since the assault. Danny had been persuaded to dress as a girl and part of him liked it.”

“What did you think of that?”

“I wasn’t happy, but seeing as I’d allowed the others to experiment with gender roles, I could hardly tell him to stop.”

“I don’t understand any of it, I mean, I can accept you’re a woman and the others see themselves as the same, so it sort of makes sense, but Danny was all boy, wasn’t he?”

“So I thought, but with Peter’s connivance they started dressing up and he seemed to enjoy it. I wasn’t happy and to try and put him off I insisted he live as a girl for a month—we had to go to Scotland, so nobody knew him. While we were up there we met another gender different boy and I allowed him to cross-dress while staying with us. His father was a religious bigot and the kid killed herself. It had a profound effect upon Danny who said he wanted to stay as a girl until the remembrance service for the unfortunate one. I agreed as it seemed so important to him.”

Andy sat there eyes wide open shaking his head.

“As he was being homeschooled it didn’t matter what he wore but it was more Danielle than Dan. I hoped if I gave him enough rope he’d hang the idea and revert to being a boy again. Then his so called friend destroyed most of his genitalia leaving most of the skin to be reformed as a pudenda, because rebuilding him as a boy was not going to happen.”

“Why?” asked Andy Bond.

“Why did we let Mick O’Rourke rebuild it as female?”

“Yeah, but why did Peter do it?”

“In answer to the first part, Danny was presenting as a girl at the time, so the doctors assumed it would be what he’d want, or should that be what she’d want? Anyway, they only had so long to start doing it or the tissue would die, so it was done before we actually got much say in it. Why did he do it? I don’t know, possibly to carry out an experiment—I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him since, and Danni says she doesn’t know.” Don’t know if I believe her.

“It’s weird—oops, I’ve got to go, going to visit Margaret.”

“Give her my best wishes, won’t you?”

“I Will indeed.”

Andy went off to the hospital and I had a text from Danni saying they expected to be home in half an hour. I checked the spuds in the oven, they’d be just right then. I’d finish them off when they arrived, the spuds I mean. I had two or three fillings such as tuna or cheese.

They drove up at quarter to eight and I switched the kettle on for tea. Danni came running in so excited, Simon followed with the bag. At least his temper had improved.

“I’m through to the next stage, Mummy.”

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, I’d have missed out. Two or three didn’t turn up—they said they wouldn’t be asked again. I could get a game with England Ladies Under fifteens.”

“That would be wonderful, sweetie.” We hugged and I could feel the buzz she was experiencing.

“I could get an England cap, Mummy. I can’t believe it. An England cap.”

“You haven’t got it yet, so come back to earth and tell us about your weekend and how we can help you get your first cap.”

“It was absolutely brill, Mummy, absolutely.”

I wasn’t sure what to do about the news about Peter’s discharge—probably wait until the morning. I’d speak to Si first.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2532 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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“They’ve let that little shite out?”

“Pia, yes.”

“Well if it comes near Danni, they won’t have to worry about further therapy.”

“Si, doesn’t that make you as bad as Pia?”

“I didn’t destroy someone’s identity along with their sex organ, did I?”

“I hope not.”

“What?” he sounded quite offended.

Oops, “Well, in your rugby playing days...who knows what you did out in the scrum?”

“Scrum? I was a three quarter.”

“Oh, I thought you were a wing forward—I’m sure you told me...”

“Later on I was, too slow for a back.”

“You said three quarter?”

“Yeah, that’s a back.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“You’ve got the forwards, right?” I nodded. “Everyone else is a back, your half backs—scrum half and outside or fly half, two centres and two wings are the three quarters because they stand behind the half backs, then right at the back is the fullback.”

“Mr Halfpenny with those amazing eyelashes.”

“Eh?—oh the Welshman, an’ British Lion.”

“Yeah, he’s got beautiful eyes and eyelashes to die for.”

“I hadn’t noticed myself.”

“You look next time...”

“Babes, when I start thinking fullbacks have lovely eyes, I think I’ll stop watching rugby. If you get my drift.”

“Oh—all right then.”

“What are going to do about this Pia creature?”

“I don’t know, I think we’d better tell Danielle, just to be safe.”

“What happens if she freaks out?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, d’you think she would?”

“I don’t know do I, that’s why I said it.”

“She’s nearly an England football cap, surely something like Pia being released isn’t going to faze her.”

He shrugged, “How do I know?”

“But we have to tell her.”

“Why? You said the cops told you call them if she comes near.”

“What if she wanted to apologise?”

“What for mayhem or attempted murder?”

“She was very disturbed, she might be better now.”

“Oh yeah, she knocks on the door to say sorry and suddenly whips out a knife and finishes the job.”

“I don’t think she ever intended to kill Danielle.”

“No, well known fact you can’t kill someone by hacking off their goolies and half their dick—she nearly bled to death—the doctors told you that.”

“I think that was a calculated risk.”

“What?”

“Just an idea.”

“Go on.”

“What if they’d talked about their experiences in France, they both ejaculated on being penetrated.”

“It happens—pressure on the prostate causes an ejaculation of seminal fluid.”

“Which I believe is pleasurable.”

“Might not be with someone’s ’ard on up your arse—that’s gotta hurt, especially the first time.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, but I’ve got this vague recollection of both of them telling me they enjoyed it.”

“I can’t believe that, just having a crap can hurt.”

“Okay, so I’m wrong, but I had this recollection and as a consequence Pia cut her genitalia off because she felt guilty, perhaps it was a revelation that she might be gay—I don’t know.”

“What’s that got to do with Danni?”

“What if Danni said she enjoyed it too but she wasn’t gay and Pia decided she must be a girl, but knew that waiting times for surgery would be six years away but a certain type of injury would be an emergency and if the victim was presenting as female, would the surgeons finish the job by creating a female type set of genitalia?”

“We’re talking thirteen year olds here not twisted thirty year olds.”

“Teenagers can be quite organised and devious.”

“It’s still far fetched.”

“I think Danni was wondering how painful it would be to lose her testes.”

“She told you that?”

“I think it was implied rather than said per se, so if they’d been talking about DIY surgery is still so far fetched. Remember they both knew about Trish and her self op and then the subsequent injury.”

“That is scary—you’re implying Danni was complicit in her own...”

“I don’t know, I can’t quite remember, so I could have misheard or mixed it up. I know they were experimenting with—um—other things.”

“What other things?”

I began to wish I hadn’t started this conversation, “They had the odd kiss.”

“Is that all?”

“If they’d been two ordinary boys, that would have made me consider they might be gay, but if they were in girl mode—girls do practising kisses with each other before they try it with boys.”

“Did you?”

“Uh no, but I read it somewhere.”

“Boys don’t unless they’re gay?”

I blushed fire engine red, “Or experimenting, they also—um—touch each other.”

“Do they? I don’t remember doing it and I’ll bet Charlie didn’t, did he?”

“Good god, no.” Could I blush even more? It felt like it.

“So did you practice kissing with Siân?”

Goodness it was hot in here, “Um just once.”

“You kissed her once?”

“We—um—kissed a few times.”

“And you didn’t fancy her?”

“Not really, why?”

“That photo of you both in school uniforms, you were both foxes.”

“We were?” I gasped.

“I’ll bet she instigated it?”

“Probably, I don’t remember, it was embarrassing.”

“Why? You were adolescents experimenting.”

“She was, I just happened to be available.”

“You didn’t enjoy it?”

“I was so uptight about anything remotely sexual that I blushed at the mention of it.”

“You had a hard time in school then.”

“You know I did. I blushed so easily if one of them said, you’re blushing Charlotte, I felt myself get hot and bothered. If they said anything remotely suggestive, I nearly caught fire.”

“My poor girl, and you didn’t fancy any of the boys?”

“Not really, I was aware there were some nice looking ones as I was aware of some girls being prettier than others—they were all prettier than me.” I felt a tear escape.

“Cathy, please don’t do this to yourself. I’ve seen photos of you as a girl, you were quite pretty and you’ve blossomed into this stunningly beautiful woman.”

I blushed again. “I don’t think so.”

“Why are women so hard on themselves? I’ve known two or three who were so gorgeous it was hard to look at them without wanting to ask them for a date, just to be near them. None of them considered they were very attractive.”

“Upbringing? In my case just confusion.”

“And some uptight parents.”

“Perhaps.”

“So have we decided to tell Danielle about Pia?”

“I think we have to, don’t you?”

“What if she wants to see our jailbird?”

“If Danni wants to see Pia, you mean?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“I don’t know what to say, don’t they sometimes encourage victims to confront their attacker?”

“That’s with psychologists and other bods about, not just the two of them—what if Danni bore a grudge and chopped up her erstwhile pal?”

“I don’t think she would—far too girly.”

“You think so?”

“Yes I do.”

“Our England striker too girly. Are you sure?”

“Si, the only thing I’m sure of is that I need to go to sleep.”

“Oh, okay—night night.” He pecked me on the cheek and switched off his light. I lay back and closed my eyes, I couldn’t sleep—but I knew I wouldn’t, not until I’d spoken to Danielle and possibly even Pia.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2533 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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I decided to broach the subject at the first opportunity and I caught Danni going back to her room from the bathroom. I knocked as I followed her back to her room. “Hi, Mummy, I’ll be down in a minute.”

I shut her door and stood in front of it. “Oh oh, what have I done?”

“You, my darling, have done nothing.” Her pained expression eased. “I had Andy Bond here yesterday.”

“The copper?”

“Yes, apparently Pia Grimshaw has been discharged from the secure unit.”

“That all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

She looked perplexed, “Enough what?”

“Seeing what she did to you the last time you met...”

“So?”

“You mean it doesn’t worry you?”

“No, why should it?”

“She mutilated you.”

She shrugged, “So, don’t you always preach about forgiveness?”

“I don’t preach—do I?”

“Okay, you don’t preach but you’re always on about it.”

“And you forgive her?”

“Yeah, I mean if I’d stayed home an’ done me ’omework like you wanted, it wouldna ’appened would it?”

“I suppose not.”

“An’ I wouldn’t be a girl trying out for the England squad—so I forgive her, she mighta done me a favour.”

“Two weeks ago you were complaining that you didn’t think you wanted to be a girl, so the chance of an England cap has changed all that, has it?”

“Yeah, for now at any rate.” She looked at me probably because I was now the one with the puzzled expression. “Look, gettin’ an England cap as a girl is better’an not getting one as a boy. If I can play pro football as a result of it, I’m happy to stay as a girl.”

“I’m worried that it’s putting all your eggs in one basket. What happens if you don’t get the cap?”

“I try harder—I’m gonna get a cap if it kills me.”

“It might be good to have a plan B.”

“That is my plan B, Mummy.”

“I meant getting an academic or other sort of qualification.”

“Oh that, yeah, I’ll do teaching—sports of course.”

“You’re going to be a teacher?”

“Yeah, didn’t I say before?”

“No—oh, Danielle, you are full of surprises.”

She smiled and blushed. “I want to get to Reading Uni an’ if I get a schoolgirl cap, I might be able to get a place in the women’s team there. They’re pretty good, so I’d have a chance to get a full cap from there as well as the English Universities side.”

“You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. Look, I know I’m stuck as girl—for now anyway.” I felt my tummy flip at her ambivalence, “So I’m gonna give it my best shot.”

“Well if that’s what you want to do, we’ll support you all the way.”

“Thanks, Mummy, you’re the best.”

“I don’t think I’m the best, but I will always try to do my best for you and the others. I hope you know that?”

“Yeah, course.”

“If you only knew how proud we all were of you...”

I opened my arms and we had a quick hug.

“We really are proud of you,” I said as I left her to dress.

“Come on, slug face,” called Trish from the bathroom, “I thought we were training this morning.”

“Okay, tiny tits, I’m on my way,” Danielle called back.

One thing, in this household no one gets a bighead.

I went down and started laying up the breakfasts before the animals descended and scoffed everything in sight. I made a pot of tea and had toast just popping up when the advance guard arrived. Trish, in a Manchester United kit and Livvie in Liverpool’s all red kit. Danni was a few steps behind in a blue hooped shirt. I hadn’t seen that one before.

“New shirt, Dan?” I asked.

“Yeah, Reading FC, Daddy got it for me last night.”

I smiled and nodded, wondering how much that cost as buying from club shops is usually very expensive.

“We got a third off after the trial.”

I nodded again then began to butter my toast. “Next one I get is gonna have three lions on it.”

“Playing for Dorset are we?” Quipped Trish.

“England, stoopid,” riposted her older sister.

“Dorset has three lions, too.”

“It doesn’t does it?” Danielle seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, look.” Trish booted up her phone and proved it.

“How’d you know that, Trish?” I asked, I knew it was the case because I’d driven in Dorset often enough to see it on council signs, especially when going to survey meetings at Bournemouth Uni.

“We did a thing on logos.”

“I suspect the English football team have been using it for a long time,” was my offering.

Trish shrugged.

“This’ll upset yer maither,” said Tom to the girls.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Some idiot hunter has shot thae first grey wolf tae be seen in thae Grand Canyon fa seventy years. It wis wearin’ a radio collar and supposed tae be protected. Some protection.”

I shook my head, “Daddy, you know my thoughts on hunting.”

“Aye, primitive urges.”

“That’s putting it politely. Whether it’s brainless Brits shooting hen harriers or moronic ’Mericans killing protected wolves or whatever, I maintain if humans were meant to have access to guns they’d have evolved the brain to identify their targets first.”

“You don’t like guns, do you, Mummy?” quipped Trish knowing full well I hated the things.

“If I could rid one thing from this world it would be guns. They have one purpose—killing things.”

“Why not nuclear weapons?” suggested Julie, snatching some toast off my plate.

“Almost anyone can get hold of a gun, nuclear weapons are significantly more difficult.”

“Okay, I was only askin’, personally, I’d ban sexist religions, like the Taliban.”

“I think yer maither wud ban a’ religions.”

I blushed, “Just the ones which exploit people.”

“That’s pretty well all of ’em, isn’t it?” said Julie.

“Probably,” I said buttering more toast.

“You’d ban the Pope?” said Trish in astonishment.

“Oh he’d be the first to go, eh Mummy?” teased Julie.

“Shall we try and keep things sensible?” I asserted after calming down. They all chuckled, the object of the exercise had passed, winding me up.

“I take it you’re playing football?” observed Julie to her sports clad sisters, “C’mon Pheebs, we’re gonna be late,” she called to her partner in crime. Said sister appeared picked up her sandwiches and the slice of toast and they both headed for the door.

“Are you playing football?” I asked the three girls.

“Just a bit of trainin’, why?”

“Okay, but I thought I might take a bike out later when the frost clears.”

“Frost?” queried Trish.

“Yes, the grass is all white.”

“It’ll be too cold to play yet, let’s wait until it warms up—I might go for ride with Mummy, instead.”

“Wimp, I’ll go for a run then, you comin’ Liv?” said Danni.

“Uh, after breakfast—perhaps,” she replied sitting at the table.

“Suit yourself,” Danni headed towards the door where she could see Julie scraping the ice off the car windscreen. She opened the door and then closed it remaining on the inside. “Might be best to get some carbs on board first,” she said and sat down at the table.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2534 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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By late morning the sun had come up and it was a relatively nice day, they did have a kick around and I waited until after lunch for a bike ride which also included the three soccer hooligans. We did about ten miles which was enough for Livvie and the object was to encourage her not put her off.

Trish and Danni constantly raced each other, which almost always, Danielle won being older and stronger. Trish then goaded me to race Danni and beat her, I explained I was staying with Livvie who was feeling the discomfort of very occasional riding. However, when Danni challenged me and Livvie told me to show him, how it’s done, I was sorely tempted.

About two miles from home I agreed and asTrish and Livvie knew their way back, we were to race home. The two younger girls counted us down an Danni jumped the gun, little sod. I dropped down through the gears and as I built up speed, I clicked back up them. I was now doing twenty miles an hour—okay, only basic racing speed, but it was faster than Danni and I was gaining on her by the second.

By about a mile from home I drew level and accelerated. She gamely tried to stay on my wheel but my superior size and technique soon lost her and I was home several minutes before her. As soon as she was home I set off to watch the two youngsters back. They were trundling along chatting like they were on an afternoon stroll.

“Did you beat her, Mummy?” asked Trish.

“Shall we say I didn’t come second.”

“You didn’t come second,” they immediately echoed back at me. I was half expecting it, so it didn’t have quite the novelty it might have once had.

“You won then?”

“Only just,” I admitted.

“Danni cheated.”

“Yeah, she had an unfair advantage.”

“She gave me a rabbit to chase.” I smirked.

“Did she—wassat mean, Mummy?”

“Just an expression, but she had the advantage of a few yards lead, I had the advantage of surprise and she gave me something to chase.”

“You had the advantage of surprise and her as a target, and you’re bigger and stronger...plus a fanatical devotion to the pope.” Trish read this off as we got out of the car.

“Amongst our advantages, are surprise...” claimed Livvie. Now I know what they were watching on telly last night, Monty Python’s flying circus has a new audience who were too young to have seen it except as historical repeats or on Simon’s DVD collection.

“My hovercraft is full of eels,” they both shrieked and shot off leaving me to sprint to catch them.

I was tempted to say, “Welease Woderwick,” but Meems would have taken a dim view of it. I didn’t think she’d be able sit still long enough to watch much of it, but just in case she did, Besides, The Life of Brian, was possibly no longer an empty gesture which some saw as allegorical and others condemned without ever seeing it. Nothing new there, but a reported suicide of a young person in America because he was transgender was very sad. His parents were conventional evangelicals and effectively refused him mainstream treatment, using instead counsellors who were as biased as his parents. He posted a suicide note on facebook.

I don’t know what his parents must be feeling but it can’t be good. In some ways they only have themselves to blame choosing their needs over his. Not a good place to be. At the same time I suspect if he’d waited a little longer he could have found a way to out manoeuvre them—buying oestrogen and blockers on line and so on. It’s still very sad and like most suicides could have been avoided.

The girls and I arrived at home and Danni was wiping down her bike, which Stella had originally bought but gave up as a means of exercise. I insisted the other two wipe down their own bikes and we secured them in the bike store. I looked at the part made wheel on the jig and decided I needed to find some time to finish it.

While we’d been out we had someone pass us going the opposite way on a full race bike with Zipp carbon wheels amongst carbon fibre everything. At my level of performance, although I could afford a top of the range bike, I couldn’t justify one and probably never would—at thirty one, I was probably past my best and although people like Beryl Burton were still setting records, she had slightly less family commitments or work calls upon her time. I think I had to accept I was getting older.

Danni was buzzing and suggested she’d like to win the TdF after captaining England ladies to winning the world cup and making a fortune. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with ambition, even unlikely ones—but then tell that to the Wright brothers.

David produced a curry for dinner, I had a tuna jacket or was it a pair of trousers? I agreed Cindy could visit at the weekend but only if everyone’s homework was completed first. Danni asked if we were going to do any sewing. “Why, do you want to?”

“I know Cindy does, she asked me to ask you.”

“What about you though?”

“Yeah, why not? It was fun last time—yeah, I wanna do some. Can I make something else?”

“What would you like to make?”

“I dunno, a dress maybe?”

“For that we’d have to get some material and a pattern.”

“We could get them on the way home from school, one night.”

“It could take some time to find a pattern you like that I think you could make plus suitable material. It could take a whole morning or afternoon.”

“What about on line?”

“If you’ve finished your homework, by all means look, but we’re looking for easy patterns, you’re not Vivienne Westwood or Stella McCartney.”

“I thought they just designed things, Mummy.”

“They have to know how to make them as well and in training as dress designers, they’d have had to make up their own designs in college.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, I s’pose they woulda done.”

“Darling, their training would involve all sorts of things like getting the design balanced and choosing the right sort of fabrics to make it in, while hopefully encouraging some development of their own creative style.”

“I think I’ll stick to footie, Mummy, it sounds easier.”

“Might be a good idea, we could still have a look for a pattern and material on Saturday. If you’ve finished your homework.”

“I willa done, Mummy, I willa done.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2535 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Cindy came early on the Saturday morning and after feeding little Lizzie and having breakfast, I took Cindy and Danni together with Trish and Livvie into the department stores to look for a suitable easy dress pattern and material. It took over two hours before we got both and finally Danni was happy with the design of the dress and the pattern on the material. We were working with cotton polyester because it’s fairly easy to machine.

The last time I’d been home to Bristol I’d brought my mother’s dressmaker’s dummy. Getting it from the loft brought back memories. I used it once with her and she’d shown me how to adjust it for size, bust, waist, hips and also height. It was a good one and a birthday present to her from my dad about three years before she died.

Mum was quite a good seamstress and she showed me the basics of using a sewing machine, hand stitching and a little about various fabrics. Anything knitted like jersey can stretch or pucker, especially on a machine. Silks and satins tend to slide, so if sewing two pieces together make sure they feed through together at the same rate. I learned the hard way, making cushion covers—she told my dad she needed me to help her do them, we had visitors coming or something. It was a fib because she could have made a dozen in a day, but we didn’t, instead we made four—or I made four under her tuition, and learned a lot about sewing. To think I actually protested to my dad about having to help her because I wanted to swot. He told me to do as my mother said—then went off to play golf.

The following week, he thought we were still making cushion covers when he went off to golf. So did I. We weren’t, she showed me how to measure, adapt a pattern, pin it to the material, mark the material, cut out and tack together. Finally, we did darts, zips and buttonholes.

We were of a similar size in height though she was a little bigger in bust and hips, unsurprisingly. She chose her time carefully. Dad was involved in a golf competition over in Chepstow and it ran all weekend. I didn’t know this as I tended to avoid him so I wasn’t being criticised or scorned all the time. On the Saturday, we did all the cutting out of the dress and tacked it together. I was surprised he wasn’t coming back for dinner, but she told me he was away so I had to make the meal and clean up afterwards.

Then instead of settling down to watch telly, her usual Saturday evening occupation, sometimes with her knitting, we continued with the dress. She’d asked Dad to phone when they were on the way home and she’d put the meat in the oven—it seemed we’d also know to clear up the evidence.

Under her guidance I sewed the dress seams together, then did the darts under the bust—how was this necessary for a boy, even one living on his own? But we did it. Next and it took a couple of hours, we put quite a long zip in, or I did, pinning and tacking, finally machining it. I was a bath of sweat after that.

We put it on the dummy and so far so good. The next day we put the sleeves in and stitched those on the machine. “Right, go and slip on the underwear you usually wear when you wear your schoolgirl uniform.”

“What?” I stood there like a zombie.

“You heard what I said, hurry, we don’t know when your dad will be home.”

I ran upstairs and did as she asked me, back down again and feeling very self conscious, I took the dress from her and stepped into it. She zipped it up behind me. I wasn’t sure what I felt as the zip tightened the material around me. She walked around me and bid me twirl while she watched and checked everything. “How’s it feel?”

“Fine,” I said in a small voice made squeaky by the frog in my throat.

She helped me take it off and told me to throw some boy stuff on top of my lingerie in case Dad came home early. Then we checked it for length on the dummy—it was above my knee, measured pinned and hemmed it. The last thing was pressing it before she bid me try it on again. Once more she checked it.

“Right, next time you play Charlotte, you’ll have something different to wear. You’d better go and change—and, Charlotte, we’ll keep this between just you and I, yes?”

I pecked her on the cheek and agreed, running upstairs in a dress I’d made I nearly collapsed in joyfulness. I didn’t get to talk with her about it, my dad arrived home and normality returned. I wore the dress once—I don’t know what happened to it, but it disappeared along with anything else I’d worn as my schoolgirl stuff. We never did speak of it—well that’s not quite true. I challenged her when she was defending my dad for his demanding I pretend I was a boy.

“So why did you show me how to make that dress, if you don’t believe I’m a girl?”

“Charlie, your dad shows you how to fix your bike, dig the garden and put up a shelf, it’s what he knows. I know how to keep house, cook and bake and sew. He’s passed on what he knows, so I’ve done the same. The fact that you can sew and cook doesn’t make you a boy or a girl, rather a more capable boy or girl. It’s called teaching you life skills.”

“I’ll bet no other boy in my school had made his own dress and worn it.”

She shrugged, “Pity, it might have saved their poor mothers some work. I washed your school shirts and trousers, you can iron them tomorrow.”

I always thought I was being used as slave labour, being too stupid to really appreciate what was happening. I was probably the only boy who had to iron his own uniform, frequently wash it as well. It did help me respect my clothes—I’d be less likely to damage or dirty them if I had to wash and iron them. My dad swallowed it. Me dirty my stuff—only when I got beaten up. Then she made me repair the holes and tears in it. Dad assumed it was a punishment for fighting—yeah, I was the school punch-bag most of the time.

Looking back, I realise she was teaching me her skills as a housekeeper. Did she really do it just to share her knowledge? Or was there a much deeper understanding of what was almost inevitable, that I would one day transition? I’ll never know for sure, but part of me likes to think there was. Dad liked to think he was cleverer than she was. He had a degree and was probably more academic she was more practical in lots of ways—he couldn’t sew on a button or do more than very basic cooking. When she died he had to get someone in to look after him until he had the stroke and I had to help him as and when I could.

“Come on, Mummy, I wanna get started on my dress...” Danielle broke my reverie. Did she know, was she operating below the radar? I guess I’ll never know for certain.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2536 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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“What were you thinking about, Auntie Cathy?” asked Cindy.

“I was thinking back to when my mother taught me how to make a dress.”

“Wow, you were lucky, my mum can hardly sew a button on.”

“I thought you could do your own these days?” I threw back at her.

“Yeah, but it’s nicer when someone does it for you.”

“Is it?” I mused out loud. “If you’re very busy somebody doing something for you, which you could do yourself if there was more time, like making a cup of tea...” None of them took the hint. “Like making a cuppa, you mean?”

“Yeah, Auntie Cathy, we can all make tea for ourselves but it tastes much better when someone makes it for you.”

But they don’t in this house they’re too bloody thick. “Hmm, I could just do with one.”

“What about my dress?” asked Danni.

“It’ll have to wait while I make myself a cuppa, won’t it?”

“Make her a cuppa, Cind, or we’ll never get started,” Danielle urged her friend.

“I’ll do it,” sighed the brain, strolling off to the kitchen.

“Make Cindy one as well.”

“Zap—you’re a cup of tea,” said Trish turning at the doorway. Cindy nearly collapsed in laughter.

“That is so funny,” she said tears running down her face. Given that Trish has very good dramatic or comedic timing meant that the throwaway was delivered very well, but I still think the girl needs to get out more. “You’re all so funny, it’s one of the reasons I like to come.”

Some people seem easily pleased, but then we all fell about laughing watching her reaction, which was funnier than the joke, especially when you’ve heard it ad nauseum.

I cleared the dining table of the decorative centre piece and spread the velvet protector across the table. We’d work on the table, or try to, if necessary we also had the floor, but my back preferred working at a decent height rather than crawling round the carpet.

Trish brought the two teas back on a tray and Cindy and I thanked her for her trouble. The first thing, measure your model. I took the tape out of my sewing basket and called out the measurements in inches—they all looked at me as if I were a cavewoman. I’d been brought up with both systems, SI in school and university and imperial at home. It was my parents’ stand against becoming part of a European super state, to ask for pints of milk and pounds of spuds. I’m happy with either, it’s when you mix them the wotsit hits the fan, or not if the directions to the transmitter are mixed.

For the next hour we trimmed the pattern, pinned it to the material and marked then cut it out. By that time it was time for another cuppa and food. David had done some scrambled egg with smoked salmon on top with crumpets as a base. Two of those and I was full as a pig. I did find room to force down some more tea—I’m such a martyr—before reconvening our dressmaking class. This dress was going to be more complicated than the one my mother had shown me, including things like facings and bound hems. I’d bought several lots of petersham and bias binding. I meant the dress would take longer to make, but they’d learn a few new tricks as we went along, plus the fact the material would run unless it was over-sewn or overlocked as they sometimes call it.

After lunch,Trish and Livvie had had enough of playing at seamstresses and went off to play on their computers. I asked them not to reprogram the international space station. Trish went off cackling. I’ve searched her part of the room but I can’t find a broomstick or cauldron.

Cindy and Danielle stuck it for another hour before admitting they’d had enough. “I didn’t realise dressmaking was so complicated, Auntie Cathy.”

“It depends on the pattern and the material. This one will run unless we either overlock it or bind the hems with bias binding.”

“I thought cutting them with pinking shears also stopped it running.”

“It will with some but not this one, so we over-sew the seams and bind the hem. It gives a more professional finish and it’s more robust regarding washing.”

“I’m really enjoying it, I wish Sister Ignatius had your patience and way of teaching us.”

I shrugged, it wasn’t my place to comment on other teachers. I know Trish calls her Sister Ignoramus, and torments the life out of the poor woman, or did until I stopped them doing scripture lessons, but they do current affairs and Trish clashed with her over global warming. The pope has declared he’s going to help stop it. If he can, I’ll consider the things I do small beer by comparison and admit it to anyone. The problem is global and somehow despite Christianity growing in leaps and bounds in China, I can’t see them cutting CO2 emissions because some well meaning chap in a white dress asked them. But I’m pleased to have him on side—better than his predecessor suggesting transsexuals were the cause of all sin or something similar. I ask you, when did I last commit a sin—apart from that—okay those ones. I’ll have to ask for a few more to be taken into consideration.

Cindy sat and talked with me while Danni was upstairs shoving a broom handle somewhere quite tender, and may well be walking funny for a short time afterwards. She asked me about dormice and how I got into them. I explained that I was better at counting things than chopping things up or boiling them in test tubes, having done things like counted hedgehogs when I was a schoolkid. I was invited to help a postgrad student at Sussex and fell in love with the little critters. It’s perhaps ironic that I went on to become an authority on them and he disappeared without trace—I think he went to Canada to study wolves or polar bears or unicorns. I took over his project, transferred it to Portsmouth, did my master’s and doctoral degree and the rest is history so to speak.

“Danni said she sometimes comes with you when you count your dormice?”

“She’s come a couple of times.”

“D’you think I could, I’d love to learn more about them. Your film was so interesting.”

“You want to come on a survey?”

“Yes please.”

“Unless we have a very early spring, that probably won’t be until late April or even May.”

She nodded.

“Okay. I have to warn you it’s hard walking in rough woodland so you’ll need clothing and footwear to cope with it. If it rains, you’ll probably get rather wet.”

“I’ll cope.”

“Okay, remind me in the spring and you can come along.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. I know I’ll never be as clever as you or Trish, but I’d like to be part of it.”

“Sometimes I’d rather work with enthusiasm rather than clever people. Enthusiasts do as you tell them clever people often think they know better.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2537 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Despite saying I wouldn’t, I ran Cindy home after dinner. I suppose I should have been doing more work on the mammal survey or something, but I felt listless, unable to settle. Thinking about my mother had pressed some buttons, so after dropping Cindy off, I drove to a car park up on the downs. It was cold and dark but I could look down and see the city in all its glory, or at least with the less salubrious bits hidden by bright lights or shadow.

I locked the doors of the car and sat there letting my eyes view the lights, twinkling in the distance like some gigantic nebula, and my mind drifting—going whence it wanted, my conscious self, my ego, roughly comparable with something the size of Australia, I left busy guiding my eyes while my unconscious plumbed its own depths as I waited for anything it dredged up. My phone lay in my bag. It was switched off. I had excommunicated myself having sent Simon a quick text saying I’d be back in an hour.

For a few moments I wished I could go backwards to my youth, insisting to my parents I was a girl and that they do something about it. I wished my mum were still alive and had been able to be at my wedding. I wished that she had seen how happy I was, knee deep in children and young adults who needed me, like I had needed her. I needed her now, or her counsel but she wasn’t there, not any more.

The vista of twinkling lights became more bleary as I tried to hold back the tears and failed as drip after drip fell onto my bust or lap. Then I simply sobbed for my loss. I hadn’t really dealt with it. I’d been to the funeral but I was almost spaced out by the fact that I had to deal as a woman with my father. For the first time, he had to acknowledge me as his daughter or be excluded from my life. I had Stella there, acting like my big sister, protecting me; but grieving was something I hadn’t done.

I thought of Billie and the tears flowed more steadily. How come I couldn’t save her? How could it be a child’s time to die? Children aren’t meant to die, that happens to adults; children are meant to grow and be nurtured and educated, not die. Was I still angry about it? A little—part of me always hoped I would be, it showed I cared—that I missed her—that I loved her.

Was I angry about my mother’s death? No because she had had a decent life as far as it went. She’d been forty five when she died, young by today’s standards but nearly five times as old as Billie. Dad had made his fifties but again wasn’t old when his strokes finally finished him off. Was the shock of my changeover the cause? I suspect Mum’s death was much more likely to prove the reason. He loved her and his grief damaged him physically.

Was I mourning him as well? If I was, I was unaware of it. We’d said our goodbyes as he died, holding on for me to get there. I’d loved him despite his bullying and abuse of me and in his own way I think he probably loved me, the son he was going to raise in his own image—only it went wrong—I got the wrong set of instructions and became a girl. In the end we were reconciled, or as much as we could be. So no, I’m not grieving—rather feeling a certain comfort when he announced to me and the sister on the ward, that he was proud of his daughter. I was proud of him for saying it, it meant a great deal to me.

Back to my mother: what was I missing? Everything. I thought about what a woman of my age would be doing with her mother—showing off or sharing her children, like I do to a lesser extent with Henry and Monica. Having the odd day out, shopping or doing girl things like sewing or getting our hair done. I missed most of that, just the odd tutorial—how to iron mine or Dad’s shirts—make the odd dress—cook—keep house—colour coordinate soft furnishings and so on. Much of it surreptitiously.

Did she know I was a girl or did she think I was gay, or was it as she said, she wanted to share her knowledge and skills with me, her only child. Perhaps a form of immortality. After all, some of my sewing kit was hers as was the sewing machine and the tailor’s dummy. Didn’t its continued use mean part of her was still alive if only in my memory.

I dried my eyes and the city lights returned to focus. For now, I’d released the pressure on my grief valve, I could go back to functioning again, coping with the stresses of my busy life. I wondered if she’d have been able to multitask, running a busy job, the mammal survey, a large family and home while dealing with their emotional stuff as well as my own? At times it feels like a big ask, at others it feels huge. Today for a moment it felt impossible. I had to release some of the grief or go bang, myself—such was the pressure. Whether it was building for a long time or doing the sewing instigated it, I have no idea. I blessed all my family, alive and dead and steered the catmobile back to the twinkling lights. Twenty minutes later I was parking next to Simon’s F type.

“Where’ve you been?” began hubby’s inquisition.

“I had some thinking to do and needed some space.”

That always worried him. He was terrified I was going to leave him. Ironic, because that was how I felt about him. In the back of my mind was that one day he’d leave me for a real female who could give him his own children, mine were off the shelf variety, although he claimed he loved them every bit as much as he would his own. I hoped he was telling the truth, I really did—not that I felt he was lying, not consciously at any rate.

“Sort things out?” he asked.

“For the moment.”

“Oh good. Want to do anything tomorrow?”

“You mean like sleep all day?”

“I was thinking something a little more active than that.”

“Like what?”

“We could stay in bed if you like and...”

“Simon, is that all you can think of?

“Not all, he almost whined.

“What’s the weather say?”

“Um—cloudy but dry.”

“Let’s take the kids out on the bikes and have a picnic.”

“Cathy, it’s January.”

“So?”

“So picnics are usually a feature of the summer.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“For eating outdoors it is.”

“Won’t stop the girls eating ice cream if it’s offered.”

“Nuclear winter wouldn’t stop the girls eating ice cream.”

Or me eating chocolate—still, the less he knows, the better I like it, at least with chocolate. Am I a chocoholic?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2538 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Sunday was dreary with occasional bursts of gloom. The sun didn’t shine but neither did the wind blow too hard or the clouds disgorge their contents, so it could have been worse.

During breakfast I asked the children what they fancied doing—each of them wanted to do something different, but with me. To be honest I didn’t fancy any of their ideas. Explaining that I had considered a bike ride and picnic seemed to carry some degree of favour.

“What about the little ones? Are you going to leave them out?”

“What I thought about doing was Danni, Trish, Livvie and Meems could cycle with me to Hayling Island and you could meet us there with the Mondeo and bring the food with you. You could also bring the little ones and if anyone was too tired to ride back, bring them and their bike back.”

Everyone but Simon thought it a capital idea, he was unconvinced. I think he was unsure about bringing Cate in the car on his own, Stella offered to have Lizzie soit was only Cate we had to worry about. He was outvoted and finally agreed when he realised he would give us an hour’s start.

I proposed making the food which he would bring and he nodded when I asked him to bring the big flask with hot water in it for tea. I told him what to do, warm it first and then pour in the very hot water, but not boiling, it could crack the glass in the Thermos. He told me he wasn’t stupid.

Trish, Livvie and I made fresh rolls with ham salad, tuna salad—couldn’t think who those were for—and cheese salad. I packed individual fruit yoghurts for dessert and some chocolate biscuits. I packed milk, tea bags, several bottles of fruit squash diluted for drinking, paper plates, disposable cups or glasses, a blanket with groundsheet attached, even knives and forks. All Si had to do was rinse out the flask, pour some hot water in it to warm it and then after emptying that, fill it with near boiling water. Hardly rocket science.

The picnic was stored in two large cooler boxes and he would stick them in the boot of the car when he followed us an hour later. We’d agreed a route in case he needed to stop and collect anyone on the outward journey, before which he’d put the bike rack on the back of the car.

Those of us taking part in this stage of the TdF then went off to change into cycling kit and then assemble at the bike store while I quickly checked each bike. Si came to see how we were doing and I asked him to bring some extra coats for sitting around in to eat our picnic. He suggested again that it was too cold for eating outdoors. I disagreed, if he wanted to eat indoors, he could sit in the car and have his sandwich.

Were quite well lagged against the cold, balaclavas and gloves on all but me. I wore gloves but I had a snood, a bit like a circular scarf which was in a fleece material and which protected my neck and part of my face and head. We set off on our assorted bikes. I rode a road bike in case I needed to nip up and down the column, which after a mile or two started to string out.

Livvie is not a natural cyclist unlike Trish and Danni who seem to unconsciously get into a cadence and keep it going, she struggles. Meems kept her company at the back of the column while I rode up and down it encouraging as best I could.

Simon passed us an hour and a quarter later, we were half way there and I would have killed for a cuppa. We met him in a layby fifteen minutes later. Meems and Livvie opted out and while he loaded their bikes, the three of us remaining on bikes took off quite quickly or it would be dark before we got there. Without the anchoring effect of the two slower girls we’d done at least another mile before Si cam past again tooting as he did. We finally met up half an hour later, when I did get my cuppa and a tuna roll.

We found a sheltered place to sit and I spread out the blanket and the picnic was reasonably successful, everyone enjoyed it, or so they said, even Simon. After we finished eating while I cleared up the debris he went off with Livvie to find ice creams for those who wanted one. While they were gone I had another cuppa and felt fairly relaxed about the return leg of our trip.

The ice creams were duly consumed and the rest of the snack allowed to ‘go down’ for half an hour before we returned. Trish decided she’d ridden enough, so Si added her bike to the rack, which could have coped with one more before the front wheels began to lift off the road. Danni and I decided, come what may, we were riding back unassisted.

It was noticed the wind had picked up since our stop and it had got a little cooler. We both shivered as we mounted our bikes and I asked Danni if she wanted to go in the car. She didn’t, we set off waving to the others and declaring we’d see them at home unless some unforeseen disaster occurred. “Like what?” asked Simon and I wasn’t sure if he was being thick or ironic. It transpired it was the former, much to my disappointment. I pointed out that unforeseen meant that as no one saw it coming we couldn’t know what it would be. He blushed confirming my diagnosis earlier.

The ride back was partly on cycle paths which made it safer but the westerly wind meant we were riding against it practically the whole time. Danielle was reasonably fit—football fit—but even she was struggling against the wind. I struggled as well, being generally unfit. At least we had no real hills to climb, although they might have deflected the wind a little which, being on the coast meant we couldn’t escape it.

I won’t say how long it took us, not helped by having to stop to repair a puncture—my rear wheel. Then ten minutes later, Danni had one in her rear wheel. Hedge-cutting—sometimes I dislike farmers and sometimes I really dislike them. They leave mud all over roads and bits of thorn and other sharp debris when they hedge cut. If they can clear things up in other places why can’t British farmers follow suit? It seems because they are obstinate and awkward so and sos. Their arrogance has to be second only to bankers and doctors.

We finally crawled home very tired but happy we’d had a good ride. A shower and change of clothing and I had another cuppa before asking David what the delicious smells were. He wouldn’t say, but I thought it smelled like lamb, possibly detected the aroma of mint sauce as well.

While we waited for our delicious dinner, as the girls were back to school the next day, we checked uniforms and other things like gym kit against wear and tear and creasing ready for the morning. I asked to see each of their timetables and asked them to get things ready now, not in a mad rush tomorrow.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2539 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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I felt quite sad depositing the girls at the school. They’d been home for the best part of three weeks. I waved as they went into the building, then turning away, I got back into the car and drove to the university.

My first priority after asking Delia to make me a cuppa was to check the dormice. It appeared everything was working and all twenty four mice were alive and hibernating. I hoped they were all fertile and hopefully we’d have four times that number by the middle of summer. A plague of dormice—how wonderful that would be.

No researcher that I was aware of had ever tried to devise a way to learn how dormice navigate or understand the area in which they live. Unlike humans who you can brain scan while contemplating certain tasks, one could hardly ask a dormouse to think about a specific subject while a huge machine whirls around it or huge magnets are placed beside it.

I was tempted to get a post grad student to research it, it would certainly be worth a doctoral degree if they solved it. I wonder what funding we could get for it. I mused on this as I drank my tea. If the bank introduced a dormouse account—save for six months and leave to hibernate for six months, they could pay a higher rate of interest for the second six months. I was happy to be associated with the account.

I sent Henry an email with the idea of the dormouse account, it then being used to sponsor the research project of how dormice find their way around. The bank could use this research as publicity for its green credentials. High Street, the bank that puts its money where its dormice are.

I got one back from him an hour or so later. He could be interested, how much sponsorship did it involve and what age group was the target client group. I suggested children and young teenagers who could get an introductory pack.

He asked for more definite plans and a paper for the board meeting next week. I’d forgotten that. I’d also forgotten that I had a university council meeting the day after next, which would be chaired by the Vice Chancellor. I hadn’t forgotten him or my earlier opinion of him, but I’d been too busy to think about a coup d'etat. I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting because I’m one of only two women on the board and we tend to be ignored. I was half thinking of things which could delay or stop the meeting, when Delia came in after rapping on my door.

“The council meeting for Wednesday has been postponed for two weeks, the vice chancellor is ill.”

“Nothing terminal I hope,” I said meaning the exact opposite.

“Dunno, Professor, more tea?”

“Good idea,” I agreed and wondered what other things I had to endure the rest of the week. She brought in my diary and I had a staff meeting on Friday. The following Monday I was lecturing on the ecology of woodland. I had that more or less under control but I needed to know numbers.

Daddy called at eleven to ask if I was available for lunch. I agreed I was, he came down at twelve and we went in my car. Amongst other things we spoke about the scheme I was trying to create for the dormouse account. To my astonishment, he thought it was a good idea and asked what sort of goodies the children would get.

I hadn’t thought too much about that, but after a pause while we ate, I came up with a CD ROM or DVD of dormice, a small book of dormice facts, with some photos and either a small soft toy or a plastic key ring fob. Perhaps a photo and letter from Spike—I’d forge her signature.

He thought that was hilarious. Back at my office, I did a quick research trawl of the major banks and none seemed interested in attracting children as customers. I suppose much of the time, they were more bother than they were worth. Tell that to the Jesuits.

I spent the rest of the afternoon refining my idea. The DVD would be of Alice in Wonderland and they’d get a teapot moneybox—the equivalent of a piggy bank. They’d also get a copy of dormouse facts with some glossy pictures. The bank would have to set the interest rate but I suggested two per cent. I sent it off to Henry, then went to collect the girls from school.

Danny was all of a twitter. Apparently, Sister Maria had announced that one of her girls had been invited to try out for the England school’s team and had progressed to the next level. She was pleased for the individual and wished them well for the remaining stages. Then apparently, she said the school would be privileged to have an England cap amongst its pupils. Some of the staff began to clap and in seconds the room was full of applause. Danni declared she nearly died from embarrassment.

Livvie brought her down to earth by suggesting that she needed a tougher skin if she wanted to play for England ladies, let alone captain them. Trish smirked at that.

I pointed out that it was common knowledge that the Cameron girls were the best soccer players in the school, so they all knew who the headmistress was meaning. Danni accepted that and so did Trish. That Livvie was also in the team showed how average the others were. Of course, in being transgender, any tabloid would have a field day were it to come out, probably claiming Danni and Trish had a biological advantage over anyone else, except the FA were signed up to the difference and diversity protocols and that both would be eligible to play as females because that was what they were legally. Jason was happy to remind them if they forgot.

Henry emailed me that evening and liked the dormouse account idea. He wondered if we had enough unused film of the dormice to make our own DVD with a new voice over. I told him it would cost as I’d have to speak with Alan. He agreed for me to cost it. He also asked for a draft paper for the board meeting.

I discussed it with Simon who felt it was more a publicity stunt than anything. The reason none of the big banks did much for children was because the profits were minuscule. I suggested they monitor how many of the children went on to become adult account holders.

“But that’s years away,” he protested.

“People are remarkably loyal to banks, even when it isn’t in their interest.”

He groaned at my unconscious pun. “But it’s still so far away.”

“Tell that to the Jesuits.”

“What’s that got to do with banking?”

“Nothing, but they used to have a motto that suggested if they got their paws on a child, he’d be a Jesuit for life.”

“Sounds a bit unsavoury.”

“Decidedly so, but it could work for banks too.”

“Hmmm, I like it,” he smiled.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2540 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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Back in my office I passed the draft of my paper to Delia to type up properly, while she was doing this I was talking to Alan who had been looking at bits of dormouse film—he reckoned we had about twenty minutes plus he could do some extra if we needed it or we could do something on general conservation, saving not just the dormouse but saving the planet. He also proposed a link to a webcam we could have on the captive dormice when they were active.

Between us we decided we could do something about the captive breeding programme and how we were trying to boost numbers in the wild. We could explain why we chip the animals, how that enables us to identify individual animals. A script was forming in my mind, “Dormice probably recognise individuals in the same way we recognise each other, from appearance and smell, whereas to humans they can appear to be much the same. At different times ways to mark individual animals have been tried, from permanent markers, to clipping bits off their claws or coat, to ringing them. None was particularly successful, but electronic chips are. There is a minute risk to the animal but given the improved amount of data available and the potential for using it to protect future animals, the risks are considered appropriate.”

I scribbled some notes, we had spare footage of me chipping a mouse we could use. Alan told me he’d scan some more stuff he had and couldn’t we use a bit of harvest mouse film to sell the newer film? I wasn’t sure of that, the film was finished at long last, it had been too late for the BBC to use for Christmas, so Easter was going to be the showing date. Easter’s in April this year, the fifth to be precise and as the best time to see these animals would be in the spring and summer, it seemed an appropriate time to have people out looking for them. Mind you, I’ve been doing nature watching forever and never seen harvest mice in the wild, though some of them may well have seen me.

Delia finished the paper and I sent it off to Henry’s secretary who would distribute it with other documents for the bank meeting. Sometimes I forget I’m a bank director, like I forget I’m an aristocrat’s missus, or that I’m a professor—I’m thirty one years old—have I seen it and done it all? Probably not—certainly not this task for which I was chosen that Billie and the goddess talk about. I can’t believe anything I’ve done so far can be related to whatever that is.

Daddy rang mid morning and I agreed to go to lunch with him. Before that I spoke with Hilary, the technician, to organise my props for the woodland lecture. She understood perfectly. “You like to make your lectures memorable, don’t you?”

“I try, the hope being that if the thing stands out in the mind of the student, some of the information offered also sticks and may be useful.”

“I’m sure it does, Professor. Your performances are much in demand, I certainly enjoy them.”

I shrugged and went back to my office while she went off to make sure we had enough sets of things for Monday. I signed some letters, spoke with one or two colleagues about funding issues and I also raised the matter of advertising for a post grad student to study direction strategies in dormice. If Henry was prepared to fund it, we had to be ready to move quickly.

At lunch Daddy related the rumour that Dominic Gasgoine was possibly ill because he got wind that someone was digging about in his past and it worried him.

“D’you believe that?”

He shrugged, “Accordin’ tae his secretary, he wis fair worrit.”

“Why? It’s never bothered him before?”

“Hoo wid I ken?”

“You seem to have your ear to the ground more than I do.”

“Aye, weel that’s no difficult as yer heid is usually up in yon clouds.”

“Are you suggesting I’m out of touch with reality?”

His eyes sparkled and I knew he was winding me up. However some of what he said was spot on, I did tend to be up in my ivory tower much of the time—I was a professor, it’s my job to be up there supervising those who aspired to supplant me. It’s possibly ironic but it’s my job to educate and train people to replace me—hopefully not for a little while yet. Then in looking back, Daddy had done just that to me, moving on temporarily to the deanship while I got some experience as a professor. I had a feeling he wanted me to replace Prof Herbert at Sussex. That would be quite a job to get and of course it’s my alma mater.

I fancied Oxford but not being an alumnus of that university, it was unlikely—it was nigh on impossible, as would be Cambridge and London for the same reasons. Like standing for the US presidency, you have to be a native of the US. That’s all well and good but it may exclude the best person for the job.

Tom told me about the attack on the office of the French magazine and the execution of a dozen people. I don’t understand all this violence and how a couple of deranged siblings could do such a thing, let alone why. I suspected they’d been radicalised having trained in Syria and so on, in which case they’d be brainwashed into thinking as their puppetmasters wanted them. That possibly sounds patronising. It isn’t meant to, but it’s a complaint that often the people who devise schemes like the murder of these journalists and cartoonists, are not the patsies who end up doing said dirty deed.

It was interesting listening to ‘Thought for the day,’ on Radio 4, where an Islamic teacher showed how this dreadful deed was not approved by mainstream Islam, and that once again it showed how the message had been distorted by self deluding clergy who were anything but men of god. It was quite a good rebuttal.

As a non-believer, I find it frightening that much of the population claims to believe in some sort of supernatural being. What evidence they have to back up this claim, is non existent. But they claim faith is just that believing without proof. As a university teacher I have to protest at any person who believes that way because it shows intellectual laziness. Faith like politics relies on emotional decision making not careful rationale. Belief in supreme beings, shows a lack of rational thought allowing erroneous emotional ideas to push past their more mature logical ones.

Politicians use the same tricks talking about people’s differences rather than their commonalities. We’re all one species who emerged from Africa, so why do the Nasty party talk about immigrants as the major cause of all our problems? It’s a nonsense but like Hitler did in the 1930s, selling policies based upon fear or hatred gets votes, once you’ve established it.

I did some more admin work and went off to get the mouseketeers, at least they weren’t bigots.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2541 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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For Annie G who likes to read it on a Sunday morning.

The days seem to fly. Was that because I was so busy, or just getting old. The girls keep telling me I’m old, so perhaps I am. The other thing they say is, that time flies when you’re enjoying yourself. If that was the case, it was an unconscious enjoyment because I felt more pressured than a submarine. This business of being a professor, plus bank director cum environmental advisor, wife, mother and general dogsbody was anything but enjoyable. True, I like to keep busy, but there’s busy and there’s frenetic. I felt I was closer to the latter.

While I drove home I was contemplating what to do about things. We had a spare room, so we could theoretically take another body—but one who worked here. I wasn’t going to adopt anyone else, no matter how needy they were or anything else. This time it was purely a commercial relationship, they work—I pay. The girls will complain, so will Stella; but I’ve got to the stage where if they don’t agree to it, I’ll do it against their wishes. Stella will help for five minutes and then go back to her old ways. Having said that, she’s good at keeping an eye on the little ones or even feeding Lizzie when I’m out and she does occasionally collect the girls, but then Jacquie is watching her two when she does.

Jacquie has passed her test but she doesn’t like driving a biggish car like the Ford. I think Simon was going to suggest the bank finds Stella something nicer than the Fiesta and Jacquie could have that as her own car. I know I shouldn’t be increasing the car population, which is already ridiculous but she could do with one to get to and fro her college. She’s restarted her access course and wants to go to university to do gender studies or something. I’m not quite sure what that means exactly, but I suspect it’s to do with academic feminism, looking at the suppression of women (or men) and how to prevent it.

I can’t say I feel suppressed because the men in my life tend to try to exercise equality except neither want to do things they deem women’s work, with exception of putting the girls to bed. They are both capable of feeding the kids, even the little ones, and changing them—but they won’t if they can avoid it. They also tend to avoid housework if they can, but then I avoid gardening and car washing. Are we too stereotyped? Could be I suppose, but I prefer housework to gardening—well most of it.

At dinner that night, I announced that I was going to advertise for a housekeeper or domestic, possibly live in because I was exhausted. I was prepared to argue until I ran out of breath to get my way but no one but Simon said anything and he supported me. I glanced around the table and they were all accepting what I said. Even David, who’d stayed for his evening meal because he was feeling a bit down, was nodding his agreement.

He’d promised the girls, Trish, Livvie and Meems, that they could bake some cakes after they finished their homework. I’d agreed to it because he was staying for company not working. He was feeling lonely with Hannah and her mum. There was still no sign from them on facebook or elsewhere. I know Ingrid had got a job with the tourist people, but whether she was still there, I had no idea.

I suddenly realised that we had the spare cottage next to David’s now that the girls had gone, so a live in was a definite possibility. Before I went off to organise an advert, I suggested David moved into the spare room if he felt that bad, but he said he’d be okay in his cottage as he could watch the telly or play his music without worrying he was waking the babies. He did, however, thank me for the offer.

I did the ad and showed it to all the adults, they made helpful suggestions and I went back and modified my first draft and felt quite happy with it.
Housekeeper/domestic help wanted. Duties will include general housework, cleaning, laundry etc., and as necessary, supervision of children. 40 hours per week on average but may be required to work extra or split shifts as needed by large family. Cooking may be needed occasionally. Remuneration is above the average so the person we’re seeking will need to be too. Accommodation available. References essential, reply to Box No.... for job description.

I emailed it to the Echo along with their fee for a whole week. I wasn’t looking forward to interviewing again, but I was beginning to feel desperate. I even thought about using an agency until we appointed.

I revised the job description from last time and felt quite good about it thinking I’d get more support from the others for a housekeeper than I would resigning my professorship or bank directorship. In fact, Henry had made it known that he was pleased to have me as a professor both as environmental advisor and director of the two combined—director of environmental management.

I had two staff who did most of the running about, reporting to me once a week, usually over a video link. They also sent reports of anything I asked them to look at. So I didn’t go chasing round the banks taking temperatures, that was now all computerised and it fed back by itself so it could be monitored easily. Given the number of branches we had, that was a job by itself.

In some ways we became like management accountants, looking at the amount of paper we used and other resources, to see if we could improve it. That was the job of my second assistant who liaised with the management accounts department and so far it was working quite well.

Alan had finished the DVD for the meeting and a dozen were sent to the bank—to Henry’s p.a. who would distribute them to other directors with the other reports. I was half expecting some resistance to my request for funding for three years at least for the dormouse study with a view to extend if necessary. I would supervise the project myself with an annual review by another university. I suggested Sussex, it was close and Prof Herbert had agreed to help. I hope this would get over the criticism that it was all very cosy between the bank and my department. It was but not in an unhealthy manner. After all I hadn’t stopped anyone else from applying for grants, but no one had, at least not of an environmental sort. Henry was aware of all this and very supportive. He felt he could claim to be the greenest bank in the UK if not Europe.

In return, I hoped we, as a university, were profiting from the relationship in a purely academic way, and my film making skills were also improving. Some of the mistakes I made in the Dormouse, didn’t happen in Harvest Mice. All experience is useful if you learn from it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2542 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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All experience is useful if you learn from it. I chuckled to myself. I seemed to have the ability to repeat my mistakes, especially when employing staff—or did I? David was a treasure and he seemed to be settled here for now, though I had to remember he might get restless and move on one day.

Jacquie, wasn’t staff, she was a needy young woman who’d been abandoned by her family and society, until we helped her fight back. Even then it nearly all went very wrong when that strange woman dominated her. It took her a while to get over that, but at last she’s trying to do something with her life, and I see her as a blossoming daughter.

I made a mistake with Judy Bell, though in all fairness it was Stella who engaged her initially, then Carolyn was a total mistake. At the same time I gave her a chance to transition as she said she was transsexual. Turned out that if she was, it was of a half hearted variety. I’m sure they exist, but most of the ones I’ve known were pretty well committed to it. Admittedly, Judy screwed things up for her, then being hit in a RTA didn’t do her any good, although she had already reverted and was coming to collect his things. He was quite surprised when he found out I’d paid for his flat to be retained, but not grateful. To my way of thinking, it isn’t the amount that matters that one gives, but the kindness to give in the first place. So, I could afford it; but what about all the other things I’d given or set up. I don’t want anything more than an acknowledgement of my giving and at most a thank you.

The other types who came for interviews but were not suitable or turned it down, don’t count in my list of mistakes, though that Russian or Lithuanian or whatever she was supposed to be caused us some inconvenience. We never did find her.

I wondered what this advert would attract, but before I employ anyone, I’ll get Jim to run some checks as well as the CRB. This time I want to get it right because my career is taking off, but as well, I want the children to prosper. If it all goes pear shaped, I’ll resign and stay at home and Simon can keep me, but I’ve a feeling life is wanting me to do something more with my life than be a wife and mother, nice though it’s been, I’m not reneging on it, I shall still be that, just helped a bit more about the house.

I was surprised Trish hadn’t challenged it, but perhaps she could see my tiredness, not that such details prevent her getting her own way if she can. I put them to bed that night, thought I better had. They all had questions.

“Who’s this person you’re going to employ?” asked Livvie.

“I don’t know yet, Liv, the advert only went out tonight. It might be weeks before we know.”

“Shouldn’t we help to choose her?” asked the brain.

“It could be a him, Trish, we can’t be specific about the gender of who we employ any more than we can about race or religion.”

Trish laughed at the prospect of another male housekeeper and I could almost hear the cogs turning.

“I don’t plan on employing any more transgender people. I feel I’ve done my bit there. I just want someone who can do what I ask, and do it well.”

“I don’ wanna man making my dinner,” wailed Meems which caused the other two to snort.

“What d’ya think David is, then—a polar bear?”

“That’s stupid, I wike David, he’s nice.” Meems was either very tired or had somehow missed the point.

“But he’s a man and cooks your dinner, stupid.”

“I’m not stupid, you stupid.” Meems started to cry and I stopped the conversation at that point.

“I get to choose who will work here because I’m mistress of this house. Whilst I will accept insights or advice from others, I employ them, so I have the final say. Now go to sleep.”

“What about a sto-wee?” complained Meems.

I quickly made up one about a dormouse saving a woodland from a developer who wanted to build a factory on the site.

I kissed them all goodnight and went downstairs where Simon was telling David about the mistakes in Down-grade Abbey. He was relating stuff Henry had told him that his parents had told him. I suspect it probably went back another generation or two for the right period, but servants were almost like slaves to the wealthy landowners or industrialists. Some of the serving girls were so ill-educated and naïve that they didn’t realise they’d been shagged by their lord and master, nor that they could get pregnant. Given that some were only twelve or thirteen, it was disgraceful how one group exerted control on the other.

I read the other day about two women who ran a supposed adoption agency for servant girls to supposedly have their illegitimate babies adopted. They were paid by the girls who never saw their babies again because the little ones were murdered and the bodies disposed of. The two women were eventually apprehended and hanged—the last double hanging of women in the UK. All round, it looked like tragedy.

I thought about my own children, especially the babies. How could anyone harm them, but they do.

Making tea, I took a cup into Simon who was watching the news on the telly. “They got those two.”

“What two?” I queried.

“In Paris, the shootings.”

“Oh have they? Alive?”

“Don’t be silly, they’re paramilitary police, and there was a hostage situation. The other siege is over too.”

“What other siege?”

“Geez, Cathy, where have you been? The bloke who shot the policewoman, he took hostages in a Jewish supermarket—they got him too.”

“Like Tesco?”

“What?”

“Well they’re Jewish, or were, and Sainsbury, I think.”

“No, one that sells kosher food.”

“Do they have kosher vegetables then?” I had an image of some rabbi saying some incantation before chopping a cabbage off its stalk with his ceremonial knife.

“No, but devout Jews eat restricted diets.”

“Kosher bacon and eggs, you mean?”

“Yeah—what?”

“Blackpudden?”

“Very funny, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, I’ve never had Jewish food, that I knew about, or Muslim or any other religiously restricted food.”

“What, not even a vegetable curry?” gasped Si.

“I can’t eat curry.”

“Better not go to India then.”

“I have no intention of going there in the near future.”

“A boy I knew at uni married an Indian girl, said she was a bit of a Goa.”

I groaned, finished my tea and after pecking him on the cheek announced I was going to bed. I was asleep twenty minutes later. A short while after that I woke after a dream where some bloke with funny little skullcap was chasing vegetables around my garden, waving this huge knife and shouting at a cauliflower in what sounded like Yiddish. Instead of laughing at it, it upset me. I felt Simon’s body next to mine, knew I was safe and drifted off to sleep again.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2543 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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Despite the farmhouse having thick walls the strong winds kept me awake, so did the driving rain. I tried to console myself that it was better now than in May or June. But it was a bind. I discovered the wind rattling round the chimneys was the noise I’d heard, the bedrooms having fireplaces as well as the reception rooms downstairs. Normally there was a plate which closed the chimney off but over the years it had become corroded or rusty and didn’t fit as well. I intended asking Maureen to look at it but had forgotten about it.

The weekend had flown by. All that had concerned Simon was how the French could get millions to march through Paris protesting at the murder of the magazine journalists, whereas, locally, we’d be lucky to get half a dozen and a couple of brownies to protest about the closure of a library. True, the gay pride march had been bigger than the library protest, but I wasn’t sure what I thought about it. Not being gay, I didn’t feel a need to march or to draw attention to myself, life seemed to do that by itself.

I don’t think I’d attend a trans march either, because I don’t think I’d want to be identified as trans. If that makes me a hypocrite so be it. In adopting several transgender children, I think I’m doing as much for the cause as any other individual without having my name up in lights. I’ve personally achieved what I set out to do, which was to become female in as physical a sense as I could and also in a legal sense. That I’ve become a wife, mother, acting professor, film maker and so on, is an incredible bonus. That I don’t need to shout about it perhaps shows complacency but I honestly don’t care. I know there are all sorts of gender identities out there, but I’ve found my own level and so have my children, save Danni who worries me.

Is it possible for someone to sublimate their real identity for several years just so they might win an England cap? I didn’t know other than how I did so myself while at university—at least as far as the outside world was concerned. Even that wasn’t as effective as I thought.

In my third year at Sussex, I was getting increasingly involved with my then cross dressing during the evenings and weekends. Providing I had enough food in stock, I’d occasionally dress all weekend, including nail varnish and makeup. One weekend, I’d been so busy doing work for my project on hedgehogs, that I fell asleep still dressed and made up. It had to be submitted between nine and ten the next morning. I woke at nine thirty. I had no chance of changing back and removing makeup or nail varnish and getting my project in on time. While I felt quite sick, I had to consider how to get to the office and hand my work in.

My hair was a mess but my makeup wasn’t too bad nor were my clothes. I combed my locks into some form of order, grabbed my handbag, wrapped a scarf around my neck and strode off to the office. Much to my relief, no one took a blind bit of notice of me, including the office staff who accepted my work without batting an eyelid. I was tempted to go on to lectures and see if anyone worked out who I was; but chickened out and went back to my room where my heart was beating nineteen to the dozen and I suspect my blood pressure was off the scale with all the adrenaline flooding my system.

I remembered the event like it was yesterday and my heart began pounding in my chest, so much so that I had to sit up. I was nearly back to safety, less than a hundred yards from my room with a cold breeze blowing up the denim miniskirt and straight through my tights, when someone passed me and quite casually said, “Hi, Charlie,” I spun around but the figure who’d spoken, a woman student, was rapidly disappearing into a building. I’m still not sure who it was.

I’m also not sure what I felt about things. I rarely ventured out dressed in those days. I certainly couldn’t at home and even here, there were always people about. Once or twice I did wear makeup while out riding in the early morning, but there were always a few people up and about. These days I think it almost absurd, how I tried to keep it all secret and also how I yearned to be able to be myself in everyday life. It was what I dreamt of, my greatest desire and so forth. Yet here I am, living the dream, being as female as it’s possible to be without having menses or giving birth, and I yearn for other things, like a secure future for my children or some peace and quiet in my own life. Wearing skirts and makeup I can do anytime, and do occasionally, but they are no longer important except when I wish to make an impression.

In the old days, they were only important because in wearing either the clothes or makeup, I was reaching into the world I felt I should have been occupying from birth. They were symbolic of how I wanted to portray myself or be seen—except, with very few exceptions they weren’t seen—as far as I was aware. Now I’m secure in that world as I want to be and be recognised, so the props are much less important.

I didn’t dress up to enjoy the clothes for themselves, it was never about the clothes, they were props in declaring who or what I felt myself to be. I have a large wardrobe of them these days, all much better quality and fit than in the days of my undergraduateship. They’re important because I have a certain appearance to maintain, the wife of a millionaire aristocrat and university professor. They show I’m successful and powerful—not necessarily signals I want to send very often, but occasionally, it comes in useful.

Were anyone to have a video clip of me scurrying back to my room that morning compared to me striding from my car to a meeting, they’d probably never believe they were the same person. Perhaps they weren’t. We all change as we proceed through life, possibly I’ve changed a bit more than others.

I lay there listening to Simon snore like a wild boar on heat alternating with the rumble of the wind in the chimney. I felt about as sleepy as an alarm clock. It was no good, I needed a cuppa and a few minutes to unwind myself from the memories which were threatening to bring on a stroke or cardiac arrest.

Drinking my tea I mused on how dumb I’d been that day, allowing myself to fall asleep while dressed and made up and not setting the alarm clock. Oh well, it’s all water under the bridge and I survived the experience both originally and in remembrance.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2544 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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It was Monday, yet again. I’m sure that some weeks there’s more than one Monday, in some it feels like there are seven. I was teaching ecology—wonderful. Trish and Livvie were squabbling over something, Lizzie had woken early and I was trying to feed her and organise breakfast. Jacquie was staying at a friend’s house and Stella was staying upstairs until I left. Then she’d rush out with her two to the crèche.

It looked as if I’d have to take Lizzie and Cate to work with me—oh well, I hope Delia is good with little ones. Julie and Phoebe arrived to lend a hand sorting out the querulous siblings while I changed Lizzie. I left her in the baby-recliner and rushed upstairs with Cate and washed and dressed her. No wonder Simon goes early, perhaps if I did, I’d stay sane as well.

In the end, Daddy took Danni, Trish, Livvie and Mima to school, while I got the two littlies ready, ate a banana and drank some water—no time to make tea—and packed a bag for all the stuff I needed to take with me for them, including a complete change of clothing for each. They might be girls but with my record, they’d probably end up covered in some noxious substance and need steam cleaning or something equally child friendly.

Somehow I got them to my office, asked Hilary to bring up some temporary fencing from the store room, and trapped them in a corner where they couldn’t do too much damage, unless they played with the double electrical socket. We had to move them.

Hilary, who’d met both of the little ones before, grabbed both and set off down the technician’s room promising to return them in two hours when I’d finished teaching. I was so shocked that it took me at least three seconds to be able to ask Delia to make me some tea. It was the first cup of the day and like nectar.

I trotted over to the lecture theatre where I was due to entertain a hundred students in ten minutes time. Our other technician Stefan, a Polish chap, was carrying out the box of stuff we needed to play ecologists with a hundred children, none of them mine—thank goodness. Trish has more idea than most of this lot.

In the prep room behind the lecture theatre, I filled a thermos flask with boiling water after warming it. I sealed the lid and carried it through to the lecture theatre and placed it on the floor behind the lecturer’s bench. I then went and got a mug, some fresh milk, teabags and a spoon—and a handful of digestive biscuits. I’d set them some work to do and make a crafty cuppa while they supposedly exercised their brains.

They weren’t a bad lot really once you got them to shut down their tablets and concentrate on listening. “But, Professor, I like to record your stuff so I can watch it again.”

“Sorry, all my stuff is one off. If you need to record things, how about using a pen and writing things on a piece of paper, or even in a notebook.?”

“How d’you do that?” she said and I felt like going and never coming back.

“If you’re too stupid to know that how are you sitting in one of my lectures?” She didn’t answer me. “Anyone caught recording this electronically or digitally, will be forced to eat their device in front of the rest of the class.

For an hour I explained about the ecological systems of woodland. Or shall I say I asked them to tell me about things. They were supposed to have read about it or should I say, about them. I suspect that pulling teeth would have been easier.

I asked for the thing which would distinguish a wood from a forest. One of them actually said, ‘size’. I nearly strangled them, I’m sure I could have claimed provocation. “Right, let’s get it over and done with; for the purposes of this argument, ie the difference between woodland and forest, size is not important.” It got loads of groans before they laughed.

“Is there a difference?” I asked. No one seemed to know—and we’re going to give them a degree in three years time? Who’s going to supply it—the tooth fairy?

“Give me the name of a local forest?” I asked.

“The Black Forest,” came back the response.

“If that’s local, then the fame of this course has spread further than I thought.”

Eventually someone said, ‘The New Forest.’ The correct answer. “Is that local, then?” asked a voice and I shook my head in disbelief.

“It’s in the county of Hampshire, that local enough for everyone?” I asked. There were murmurs of approval. We moved on. I won’t bore you with the rest but essentially, the term forest, especially when applied to the New Forest, meant an area used by the king for hunting. The difference between a wood and a forest? The answer was trees. A woodland must have trees, a forest doesn’t have to. Educational this, innit?

After a cuppa, I sent them off to grab a quick toilet break, we did the practical. Hilary and I had made up packs of things from a woodland. Working in groups of four they had to tell us something about the items—things like acorns or hazel nuts, various leaves or sprigs of leaves, feathers, fungi or bits of wood.

A hour later I finished the second part of the lecture. I set them another chapter to read and told them to re-read the first chapter of the set book. I also told them in no uncertain terms, that anyone who didn’t know about these two chapters by next time might be asked to leave the course. They went out buzzing, I was exhausted.

The day didn’t improve. Jacquie came and collected the two little ones, which did help. I sat down with a cuppa in my office and having a quick browse of the internet came across an article about Hen Harriers on the Guardian website. My tolerance of hunting, which is zero, dropped even further. The massed slaughter of red grouse by small groups of very wealthy men, seemed to mean that hen harriers disappeared—not necessarily at the same time—but through the actions of some estate game keepers. Not all shoots are at fault, but it’s difficult to recognise which ones aren’t because hen harriers can cover hundreds if not thousands of miles. But if any of the shoots were telling the absolute truth, we should be knee deep in the species, we’re not, ergo, someone is lying. Also the lack of prosecutions for deliberate acts of cruelty or destruction to birds of prey and the piffling sentences handed out even where prosecutions have taken place is an example that English law only applies to the ordinary folk, the rich and powerful seem to be immune to it or its consequences.

I emailed a copy of the article to Simon and Henry announcing that if ever it happened on our estates, I’d personally hang, draw and quarter the person responsible. They each emailed back declaring they’d help me. I wasn’t sure I believed them.

http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2015/jan/13/-sp-myste...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2545 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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I eventually got over my funk regarding the illegal killing of raptors—they’re all protected, though it still pained me that humans could see them as anything other than glorious aerobats, as most of them are. Sadly, most men are interested in money to a much greater degree than enjoying beauty. Many only see it as something to possess or despoil. That red deer on Exmoor, the Emperor or whatever he was called, with huge antlers, some twat had to kill just because he could. People like that should be destroyed too, they demean humanity by despoiling all they touch. It’s not as if he did so with his bare hands. He hired a gillie to find the stag and shot him with a high powered rifle. Anyone could have done that, even the dickless wonder who did it. I despised him and all of his ilk.

Seems like there are a growing number of total shits in this world. A colleague who crashed her car on Christmas Eve and was dealing with insurance companies trying to get her claim settled, related how a cold caller—one of these ambulance chaser types, coincidentally called her and she thought it was her insurance company. It transpired her car had been bashed a year before and he was trying to get her to claim for injuries she didn’t receive. She refused to play ball saying it would be telling lies and immoral. He didn’t seem to care and pestered her for several days.

I was as horrified as she had been; it just isn’t cricket to screw money out of others simply because you can. We both felt morally superior for a few seconds, until it began to rain and then it was more a question of trying to stay dry than worry about each other’s philosophy. I think I’ll stick to dormice, they neither cheat nor lie, but then they’re only awake six months of the year.

“One of your students has complained to the dean about you,” Delia told me. “She claimed you told her if she didn’t put her tablet away you’d make her eat it in front of the whole year.”

“Nah, just her class.”

“You’re so merciful.”

“Just call me Atilla,” I joked.

“She didn’t think it was funny. In fact she thought it was decidedly un-funny.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Oh c’mon, Delia. I told her to write notes not jump off Beachy Head.”

“What if she can’t make notes?”

“She shouldn’t be here, or she should have told us if she had some difficulty.”

“She might be too embarrassed.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Did I overreact? “They’re not schoolkids any more, they’re young adults. If they can’t hack it, what are they doing here? If they have problems, we explain at the beginning of their course, they should come and tell us—we’ll help them.”

“I take it you didn’t have any problems, Professor.”

“If I did I dealt with them myself.”

“Which might have been what she was doing.”

“Get her name from Daddy’s secretary, then make her an appointment to come and see me.”

“The dean wants to see you.”

“What now?”

“I think so.”

“When you call Pippa, tell her I’m on my way over.”

I assumed it was because of this girl. Perhaps I’d been a bit hard on her but we are supposed to exercise a degree of stringency. We’re offering these kids a degree if they’re prepared to work for three years. The problem is, these kids are so spoiled, the first time they have to wipe their own bums, they complain. How are they going to grow up if they meet no challenges except avoiding date rape and pregnancy?

It was with a heavy heart that I trudged over to Tom’s office. “Hi, Pippa,” I said entering her office.

“You’d better go straight in,” she said. It wasn’t a good omen.

I knocked and entered when he called from inside. He was alone, so I anticipated I could talk my way out of this.

“Ye ken why I asked ye tae come?”

“I presume it was because I told a student to stop recording me.”

“Partly.”

“Oh?”

“Also thae fact that ye humiliated her in front of a full cohort of her fellows.”

“I told her to make notes instead.”

“I ken well whit ye said, she recorded it.”

“After I told her to stop.”

“Ye telt her if she couldnae make notes she shouldnae be there.”

I blushed. “Sorry, but it rankled me. If she’d asked me beforehand, I’d have let her on the proviso she didn’t share with anyone else.”

“She said she wis too nervous to ask ye—thae superstar professor.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Yer status, ye’re an aristocrat’s wife, a PhD, a successful film maker and author. This nineteen year old kid has never been away from home before and ye, thae big superstar just pissed all over her.”

“I’m sorry if that’s how she experienced it.”

“Tell her not me, if she hasnae left already.”

“I asked Delia to call her to come and see me to discuss things.”

“I’m disappointed, Cathy. I never expected ye, of all people, tae dae this tae anyone.” I felt about two inches tall and near to tears myself.

“Perhaps, you’d better accept my resignation, forthwith. I’ll do you a letter later.”

“Gang tae run away again are we?”

“No, doing the decent thing. I made a mistake, I’m now facing up to it and taking appropriate action.”

“Sae ye both lose?”

“What else can I do?”

“Whit d’ye think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sae if ye resign, that maks it all better does it?”

“No, but I’ll be seen to have taken appropriate action.”

“By wha?”

“By everyone.”

“Including all the other students wha’er paying nine thoosand a year tae hear ye blether.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Whit aboot a’ thae others? They came because ye seduced them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Daddy.”

“I’m no being ridiculous, I’m tellin’ ye thae truth. They a’ think they can study yer vermin an’ become rich an’ famous, like ye did.”

“Who in their right mind would believe that? This isn’t reality television, this is a university—they come to study, I come to facilitate that learning. It isn’t a finishing school, we don’t wipe noses and bums, this is the real world. If they don’t work, they don’t stay. If that’s cost them. Too bad, at least they’ll have learned one thing.”

“Sae wha stole yer lollipop?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are ye gang tae tell me whit’s thae real problem?”

I felt a tear run down my face, “I can’t cope any more. I’m resigning before it kills me.” I went to turn to leave but he beat me to the door.

“Sit doon,” he pointed to an easy chair. “Pippa, twa coffees, please.” He sat next to me. “Noo, tell me a’ aboot it...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2546 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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I spoke to Daddy for an hour. He seemed genuinely surprised that I felt so overwhelmed by life. It was true that I had everything going for me, but at a cost. Being a little greedy, I wanted it all except life was suggesting that I couldn’t. The problem was I couldn’t physically do it all and a lot of it depended upon me being actively involved with a university. My role with the bank as ecological adviser depended upon it, as did the director of the woodland centre named after my daughter. Being a bank director wasn’t as onerous, except when I had to produce reports for them. My job as mother and homemaker was non-negotiable, as was being Simon’s wife. Housekeeper, I was prepared to let someone else do for the moment—perhaps a long moment.

Even once I found some woman to do the housework, I’d still have to supervise her while she learnt the ropes—basically how I liked things done. So it would be some time before I divested much of that. Who I wanted, I didn’t know, just someone reliable and safe.

I walked back to my office. Tom had told me to go home but I had things to do. Delia had got hold of the girl, Melinda Preston and she agreed to come and see me this afternoon at two. When Tom phoned to ask me to go to lunch, I didn’t answer, instead asking Delia to get me a tuna roll from the refectory. I ate this while signing letters and putting the finishing touches to what I was going to say to the bank board.

I’d just finished that and brushed the crumbs off my desk when Melinda arrived. I wasn’t going to enjoy this one bit. Delia announced her arrival and I invited her in. Where to start? Oh boy.

“I think we had a misunderstanding this morning.”

“I don’t think so, you were very clear, would you like me to play it to you?”

“Is there any reason why you can’t take written notes?”

“Apart from my dyslexia, you mean?”

“If you suffer from reading difficulties, we ask you to tell us before you start lectures. Had you done so and agreed to our terms of use, we’d have permitted you to use a recording device.”

“What terms?”

“That they are for the purposes of your own personal study. My teaching technique relies on some degree of novelty. If I want to use it on a second group, if they’ve seen a recording of it, it won’t have the same impact.”

“I was told you were one of the best teachers on the campus, if not the best. That’s why I chose to do ecology. Wish I hadn’t bothered now.”

“You’re perfectly entitled to switch courses if you want to.”

“I know.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Don’t know what else to do.”

“How bad is the dyslexia?”

“It takes me quite a long time to read very much or write it.”

“When you go, ask Delia for the forms to apply to do video assignments.”

“Doesn’t that imply I’m staying, I haven’t said I am yet.”

“They apply to any course, they’ll even allow you to borrow a camcorder.”

“I see. Thank you for the information.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just popping down to the dormouse lab to check on them, want to come with me?”

“Dormice? They’re hibernating aren’t they?”

“Yes, but we monitor them doing that too.”

“Oh—I uh.”

“Up to you, but if you came here to see dormice, if you’re leaving, it might be the only chance you have.”

“Okay.”

“This morning, you didn’t stick to the rules. Neither did I, insofar as I let my tiredness influence my emotions. I overreacted. For that I apologise.”

“Okay.”

“C’mon, let’s go and see some dormice all tucked up in their beds.”

An hour later I went to collect my girls from school. Melinda had accepted my offer to use video equipment for her assignments. I also leant her some audio discs of the textbook they had to read. I made them a few years ago, sitting down and reading them aloud for a girl I was teaching who couldn’t cope with reading the book. She went on to get her degree despite her reading difficulty. I’d have to do some more copies, they were good for inducing sleep in the most entrenched insomniac.

“I take it she’s not resigning the course?” asked Delia as I pulled my coat on, the weather had turned cooler.

“No.”

“Dormice?”

“Yep.”

“Your secret weapon?”

“Yep.”

“Can anyone resist them?”

“Occasionally, but rarely women.”

“They are rather cute.”

“I just remind people why they signed up with us.”

“The dormice.”

“The dormice,” I echoed. I know I can be grumpy, my kids tell me this all the time. Being with the dormice calms me down, reminds me why I’m here, in this building; why I cope with morons who think we’re somewhere to sit out a couple or three years before they go and sit out somewhere else.

Even hibernating, the mice caused a change of mind in Melinda, that and her superstar professor showing her softer side. “You love these little things, don’t you?”

“I love my children and my husband. I enjoy my work and I’m very fond of these animals, who I’ve spent umpteen years trying to understand so I can help to conserve them.”

“I’d like to help you do that, Professor.”

I offered my hand and we shook. “Get a good degree and there might be a chance to get an award to do post graduate research.”

“Yeah, but with my dyslexia, wouldn’t they look more favourably on other candidates?”

“Not if you declare it at the outset. It makes things different not impossible.”

“In some ways I’m glad we had that contretemps this morning, I was too embarrassed to say about my dyslexia.”

“Melinda, there are pathways for all sorts of things in the university, to help avoid the sort of thing that happened this morning. Confrontations are not conducive to learning.”

“But you’d never have shown me the dormice, would you?”

“Probably not.”

“Can first years help with the surveys?”

“If they are well up on their coursework.”

“Oh.”

“We advertise for new volunteers in April, he surveys usually start about then or even later if it’s cold.”

“I’ll try and remember to look for them—the adverts, that is.”

“Do.”

I felt lighter collecting the girls which lasted until I got home where a large sack of mail passed on from the advert for a housekeeper was awaiting some sorting. My heart nearly stopped. There had to be at least a hundred applications. Hopefully the others will help me sort them.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2547 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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After dinner Stella and I discussed criteria for short-listing our future housekeeper, we drew up a checklist and began to work through them. Despite the title of housekeeper, which we assumed would attract females, we had two men apply. We agreed not to exclude them immediately. Theoretically, because I stated the household was accepting of all legal forms of gender, sexual orientation, religion, ethnicity or disability, providing the successful candidate could complete the full list of duties we’d dreamed up.

We ended up with a short list of twenty. We asked Simon to look at them. He immediately excluded the two men. I asked him why. “Don’t you remember what happened when we engaged a man.”

“The only man I’ve engaged is David.”

“Not him, that creature you brought down from Bristol.”

“Caroline, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“What about her?”

“She wasn’t a she, was she; but it took Jenny to prove it.”

“They made their decisions, we made ours, the matter is closed.”

“I don’t want any more transgender people in this house, we have enough.”

“We don’t have any transgender people in this house, we are all females.”

“Okay, I know that and respect it. We have some rather attractive young women here, including my beautiful wife, I don’t want any other males here.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No, I trust my wife implicitly.”

“Thank you, darling,” I kissed him.

“I don’t necessarily trust the other hormone racked individuals.”

“These are our children we’re discussing.”

“Yeah, so?”

I agreed the older ones except Jacquie seemed boy crazy and Trish always seemed interested in talking about sex, usually at the least opportune time. I’m not sure how much she actually understood of the physical act, of a man’s squirms, as she called them, swimming up the vagina and beyond before they either found an egg or died.

I don’t think the others did, Livvie and Mima, it was just something that embarrassed adults, so it was good fun to use against us at times. At their age, being totally innocent of most things carnal, I was a good girl, I’d have been so embarrassed because I was so uptight about any such thing, I’d have made the Virgin Mary seem like a hooker.

Biology, might have been my favourite subject at school, I still recall being embarrassed when we did the reproductive system in mammals, partly because of the little quips the teacher allowed. Things like the menstrual cycle where the teacher mentioned the side effects like cramps and pain and of course the bleeding which can be very variable. “You get heavy periods don’t you, Charlotte?” Another asked if I got randy around ovulation and another, if my breasts were sore on my period. It got to me that day and I ran out of the classroom and hid in the boiler room sobbing behind a cupboard, where the caretaker found me.

He took me to the headmaster who demanded to know what I was doing in a room I knew to be off limits. I was so upset I couldn’t tell him. “Go and collect your handbag, Miss Watts, and go home. I couldn’t face going back to my classroom while the others were there so I left my satchel there until the next day, which was when my fountain pen was stolen.

I didn’t go straight home because my mother would be asking why I was red eyed and home early. So I wandered about until the time I’d normally be home, then after shouting that I was home went up to my room and fell asleep on the bed. I was fifteen at the time and so confused about myself and everyone else.

On reflection, I knew I was a girl and I said so when I was younger, but once I realised it was an area of vulnerability, I kept quiet except my natural femininity always gave me away. I walked like a girl, talked like one and was one but except deep down, I’d deny it like a heretic on trial by the inquisition.

I did fight back, mostly passive resistance like growing my hair to the middle of my back, and because it was thick and plentiful, it looked girlish, the effect I wanted because part of me wanted to say that’s what I was; part of me just enjoyed annoying the regime.

“I thought we were discussing these applicants?” Simon brought me back to earth.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You were miles away, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I then told him I was thinking about the upset with the student from earlier. It was a lie but he believed me. I couldn’t tell him about what I was really remembering because he tries to deny I was ever a boy. In some ways I wasn’t, but officially I was and I can’t really deny it, it’s part of my life however much I’d like to forget it.

In the end Simon suggested giving them to Trish to sort, at which I decided I’d had enough of the day and went to bed. Simon came soon after and we just cuddled, then in a fit of guilt I began to cry.

“Hey, babes, what’s the matter?” he asked holding me very tenderly.

At first I couldn’t tell him then after getting my breath back I explained I’d lied to him. He asked what I was talking about and I told him the whole story.

“Well it shows some of the young psychos knew you were female.”

“To me the only thing it showed was how Mr Parfitt had no control over the class.”

“An academic, perhaps, in the literal sense I mean?” proffered Simon snuggling me in his arms. “You really had a pretty shitty time growing up didn’t you?”

“Sometimes the quips were quite funny. In maths when the teacher asked what a standard deviant was, some kid at the back called out, ‘Watts.’

“My poor little girl, having to suffer all those indignities. I wish I could undo the memories for you and replace them with nicer ones.”

“They made me who I am today, except with Melinda, I forgot for a moment because I was so tired and stressed.”

“If it helps, employ two housekeepers. I’d rather pay than have you ill.”

“I love you, Simon Cameron.” I meant it too.

“Why’s that?”

“Because when you care, you really do care, don’t you?”

“Look—ee here, Missus, you aren’t the only one who feels passionately about things, especially about things like bullying.”

“I know, and I respect you for it.” I could almost feel his pecker filling with pride, well something began to stick in my side. I know, too much information, but that night we made love very tenderly and gently.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2548 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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The next day after work, I came home with the girls intent on making a decision on who I would shortlist. I made the girls a drink and a biscuit and after pouring a cup of tea, went down to my study with the file of applicants.

I needed a list of no more than five, and that was going to tough to interview. Stella had agreed to help, but I felt we needed three and was tempted to ask Tom or Simon except I knew they’d decline. Sammi wasn’t interested and Julie was too busy, which left Phoebe or Jacquie. When I asked Phoebe, she was horrified and said she’d go with my choice. Jacquie was my last hope and she reluctantly agreed to sit in on the panel. I suspect she felt a little embarrassed as the last time she’d been involved in interviewing at the house, she was one of the candidates.

Trish wandered into my study and asked what I was doing. When I told her she asked if she could help. I had picked three and needed two more. Trish picked out each application and scanned it. Then she did so again and handed me a form, “This one,” she said.

“Why?”

“She writes neatly, I can almost read it.” She was holding it upside down.

“Okay,” I placed the application with the other three short listed.

“This one,” Trish almost seemed in a trance as she handed it to me. “Billie likes her.”

“I hope you’re not joking,” I said taking the final letter.

“I’d never joke about my sister, Mummy. I loved her too much.” With that, she left the room quite quickly and I hoped I hadn’t upset her.

I wasn’t sure what I thought about what had just transpired, had she just communicated with Billie? I found it all confusing, talking with the dead—not just talking to them like we all do at times when we think of our departed loved ones—but conversing with them, as Trish claims to do. Then this business with the goddess, just blows my mind. I’m a rational human being and scientist to boot. There is no evidence, real evidence for the existence of gods or goddesses, they’re an invention of ancient minds trying to explain things their primitive technology couldn’t to people who were even less clever.

Natural forces are not the result of some ancient god flexing his muscles but the demonstration of the laws of physics. We understand the basis for so much more things like tidal waves and volcanoes, the creation of stars and planets, perhaps even the birth of the universe itself and possibly echoes of previous ones. We can’t yet explain dark matter or dark energy, but we’re getting there.

In medicine, surgeons do amazing things to the human body, which even twenty years ago would have been thought impossible. Many more people are surviving cancer and various other previously lethal diseases, thanks to science not divine intervention.

I know we seem programmed to believe in metaphysical things and see them with a sense of awe. I only have to see a starlit sky or the dawn of a new day, a sunset, the seeming miracle of new life in the birth of animals or humans, or the production of seeds in a flowering plant. It’s so easy to cop out and consider the intelligent design theory or the g-word to explain it. God doesn’t make mistakes—no? He works through nature doesn’t He? The faithful nod, and evolution demonstrates that nature works with trial and error through natural selection and most of its experimental prototypes become extinct very quickly. Even long established species can disappear if environmental conditions change adversely. Trilobites were here for millennia, there aren’t any now. Every species is fated to become extinct eventually, leaving the door open for others to fill the niche they exploited. Man could delay the inevitable because he’s cleverer than most other creatures and is possibly the first creature to predict the future and thus be able to adapt his environment artificially.

Having said that, looking at many of my fellow humans and the way they live, I suspect there is little chance of us surviving extinction probably caused by our own activities. From the earth’s point of view that might not be a bad thing as we seem to contaminate all we touch. I just hope in our passing we don’t cause further mass extinctions of innocent creatures, though nature does it all the time.

Turning back to my short list, I put together a pack which Delia could do for me tomorrow and send out to the lucky candidates. Stella and I agreed a date for the interviews two weeks from the Saturday and they would be here, at the house. I told Si and Tom what we were going to do and I think Si grumbled something about the Six Nations starting. The look I gave him meant he withdrew the comment instead muttering something about watching it down the rugby club. A bit of a change from the previous night when he was so supportive of me. I suppose it wasn’t clashing with his precious rugger, but if I become ill through overwork or stress, he’ll have to help instead of watching sport—though that will be my own fault, like it always is. He’s just like the girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead—when she was good she was very very good and when she was bad, she was horrid.

At dinner I became acquainted of another glorious failure, we Brits do it better than anyone. This involved the Mars rover Beagle 2. It was due to land on Mars in 2003 and they thought it had crashed. They now think it landed but some of the solar panels failed to deploy and there wasn’t enough power to erect the radio antenna and report back to earth. So near and yet so far, and so sad that the man behind the project died not knowing how close he’d come. Had it worked, everyone would have been praising him and his team, it failed so we add it to the long list of things we nearly got right.

Like the landing on the asteroid last year, I think these were achievements we should be celebrating with pride. Compared to the larger space agencies, we did these things on a shoe string and the techniques they utilised are now the basis for the latest generation of planetary exploration.

Trish was very taken with the story and went off to explore it in cyberspace while the rest of us drank a toast to Beagle-2 and its departed inventor. “I’d love to be involved with the IT for something like that,” sighed Sammi.

“Just make our bank secure first,” quipped Simon.

“That’s like painting the Forth Bridge,” complained Sammi meaning it was an endless task, and a team of painters and maintenance engineers used to complete it then start again at the other end.

“I think you’ll find they painted it with some new stuff which means they won’t have to do it again.” I informed those remaining at the table.

“Oh,” beamed Sammi, “there might be a chance for me yet then.”

“I’m sure stranger things have happened,” I replied smiling back and thinking about my thoughts earlier and the human tendency to believe in the supernatural rather than investigate the cause of an event scientifically.

“You don’t think the Beagle was shot down by Martians, do you?” Simon brought the conversation back down to his schoolboy level. I’m sure there must be two of him, last night I got the angelic one, today his devilish twin brother. Ho hum.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2549 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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Emailing instructions to Delia from my iPad worked fine with the wi-fi from the train. It was still dark when we boarded it; the we being Sammi, Simon and li’l ol’ me. As I was a big girl now, they were letting me play at being an honorary commuter. I yawned as Simon returned from the buffet car with sandwiches and coffees. It was too early to have more than tea for breakfast—I mean, I should still have been in deep slumber when instead, I was ripped from my bed and told to shower.

It’s difficult enough putting on eye-makeup when one’s eyes aren’t watering from a huge yawn, so the fact that I didn’t look like the villain from a silent movie shows superhuman dexterity and control—no I didn’t swallow my mascara wand. We got to the station with ten minutes to spare—I grumbled I could have stayed in bed a few minutes longer. Simon rolled his eyes and Sammi snorted. I was well turned out, dogtooth check skirt suit in black and white—it hurts your eyes to look at for long, so I thought it would stop my fellow board members staring at me. My feet sported black knee high boots with three inch heels but to go to the station, I wore a long dark grey wool coat, leather gloves and a fluffy scarf. Simon thought I looked okay, so I guess I musta done.

Sammi looked elegant as always in a pinstripe trouser suit and low heels—she learned her lesson after sore toes a couple of times. She wore a camel coat and a fur hat. If I’d had longer, I’d have put my hair up and worn a hat, but with the exception of standing on the station, it wasn’t that cold. Railway stations are always cold places, even in summer.

Closing up the iPad in its leather case, I returned it to my laptop bag where apart from said laptop, the bag contained my notes for the meeting plus a DVD we’d made for the dormouse account holders, a copy on a memory stick, just in case and a copy of the Guardian.

Simon was working on his netbook as he ate his sandwich, Sammi’s fingers danced over her keyboard, pausing now and again to sip her coffee. I turned the paper to the crossword and opened my tuna and cucumber sandwich—not my usual choice for brekkies, but I wasn’t going to complain. I even drank the coffee, but it didn’t cause my brain to kick into action and by the time we got to London, I’d got three clues and nodded off. Simon ‘the cat’ Cameron managed to catch my pen as it fell from my sleeping fingers—so he told me afterwards. I must check with Sammi, he is prone to slight exaggeration at times, usually to put himself in a better light.

An underground took us to Canary Wharf and five minutes’ walk saw us entering the bank. Sammi and all the others have now changed their names to Cameron, even the other Miss Watts, so the concierge was at his most oleaginous as three of the bank’s royal family walked in. “Good morning, your lordship, your ladyship and Miss Cameron.”

“Morgen, Morgan,” said Simon as he did every day, Sammi smiled and I nodded as we headed for the lift having swiped our cards on the security gate. Sam went off to her IT department while Simon went off to his office and I made my way to my nominal office. I asked for a cuppa and while it was being made I checked my appearance in the mirror in the ladies down the corridor. I was fine, so was the tea.

At nine thirty, I walked down to the board room via the loo, a wee, some fresh lippy and a squirt of Coco, and I was ready—to go back to bed. I stifled a yawn and tried to stay awake until it was my turn.

An hour into the meeting we were served coffees, I opted for a latte though I might have been better with espresso, in terms of using it as an anti-soporific, but I remained awake—or appeared to. I was actually sleeping with my eyes open.

I heard my name, or I heard Professor and turned to Henry who was smiling at me. I smiled back then opened my file and talked through my proposal for the dormouse account the profits from which would fund research projects on dormice or other British wildlife. I showed a clip of the DVD we’d prepared to give new account holders and which the directors would have received a week ago.

There was general approval, though one old fuddy-duddy, a man in his sixties I’d guess, suggested that bank had spent enough on green issues, and despite how knowledgeable my contribution had been, weren’t we there to act on behalf of shareholders, customers and to make money, not promote dormice.

Henry’s eyes flashed and he tapped something into his tablet. A moment later, he charmingly but ruthlessly defended me and his decision to appoint me by quoting the feedback from customers, the money I’d saved them and the expected uptake of the dormouse account, especially by children. No wonder I got a bonus last year.

My detractor suggested that children didn’t invest very much, so how were they going to get all this money?

Henry asked how many times he’d swapped banks. The reply was never. Henry asked him to think about it—presumably the answer not switching banks. It seems, no matter how inefficient banks are, we tend to stay with them unless they mess up big time or show their contempt just a tad too openly. It appears it’s not just the Jesuits who like to get ’em young.

The meeting finished at one and Simon and I were whisked off by Henry to meet with Monica at an upmarket restaurant. I was sleepy enough without eating, so declined any alcohol and settled for a small risotto. To drink, I had an elderflower presse, the sharp dry taste refreshing my mouth and helping me to stay awake.

After lunch, Simon and his dad returned to the bank, Monica walked me to the nearest tube station and some half an hour later I was sitting in first class on my way back to Portsmouth. Henry was pleased the meeting had gone so well, especially for my dormouse account. Simon was also happy, saying that once before they’d tried to encourage youngsters and it had been disastrous costing them megabucks. When I’d paled at this, Henry said, “Don’t listen to him, Cathy, that time we didn’t have a lovely lady fronting it nor the advantage of the DVD and the showing of the film two or three times, it always getting good reviews. Even the Echo suggested it was worth another look. It’ll be fine, you mark my words.”

Despite my tiredness I didn’t sleep on the train, the thought I might miss my station enough to keep me awake. I got home slightly too late to collect the girls, so Jacquie was off doing it, enabling me to change and make myself a cuppa before they returned.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2550 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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“Mummeeee,” rent the air and did possible permanent damage to my eardrums. It was followed by a tsunami of bodies clad in school uniform—the girls were back, I suspect they were pleased to see me. I then had to listen to the latest goings on. Trish and Sister Vagina were locked in an argument over quantum mechanics—doesn’t the woman ever learn? Most of the finer points went over my head including the bit where Trish demolished her argument using something called proton tunnelling.

I smiled in the right places while Livvie yawned, Mima whined and Danielle went off to change and do her homework. Eventually Trish either finished or suffered acute laryngitis because it went quiet. “Well?” she demanded.

“Obviously Sister Virginia must be a silly old quark.”

The other two looked at Trish who processed what I’d said and suddenly burst into laughter, they laughed too. “Yes, very good,” she commented on my reply, they went off to change and Trish confided to the others, “She didn’t have a clue did she?”

“Nah,” was the reply. Outgunned by ten year olds I did the only thing I could do, filled the kettle and made a pot of tea. While it brewed I got drinks for the girls plus a digestive biscuit. I also wondered if I should have included a degree in particle physics amongst the qualifications required for housekeeper.

The rest of the evening was more normal with no further conversations about physics mainly because Simon was full of the meeting and Henry’s put down of my dissenter.

“Oh?” said Stella which gave Simon the opening he wanted to tell the story in full. I cleared the table with help from Julie while Jacquie and Phoebe took care of the little ones. While I was up I made drinks for everyone and as I passed a tea to Stella she said, “How come you didn’t mention this character from the meeting?”

“What for?”

“Well, I mean fancy him thinking that banks were there to make money?”

“I don’t have a problem with that provided some of it is shared for good causes as well as shareholders.”

“Given to you, you mean?”

“Yeah—what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she said and smirked then added, “no conflict of interest then?”

“No, it will all be fully accounted for and overseen by a couple of trustees.”

“You and who else?”

“Dan.”

“The manager of the woodland centre?”

“He is, but the trustees will be from the university. D’you realise we’re second only to Cambridge in importance regarding mammal distribution. We’ve even overtaken Sussex.”

“Is that important?” asked Stella.

“It’s not going to get us into the Russell group, but then we’re too small for them.”

“Apart from that why’s it important?”

“It’s going to increase our appeal to new students, preferably ones who are a little brighter than some of the ones we get now.”

“I thought a degree was a degree.”

“I think you’ll find one from Oxbridge or London carries a bit more weight than one from the smaller universities.”

“Like yours you mean?”

“Ours are being looked at with a bit more favour than they used to be. Daddy started the improvement...”

“And you’ve taken it further?”

“Shall we say I’ve continued the trend.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have published papers and so on?”

“I’ve done three on the survey, all peer reviewed and accepted by three respectable journals.”

“So how many is that altogether?”

“Papers or ones on the survey?”

“Altogether.”

“Ten including a couple on dormice published when I was still at Sussex, I was a co-author with Prof Herbert and another girl Alice something, can’t remember.”

“Springs?” suggested Stella.

“What?”

“You know, Alice Springs.”

I rolled my eyes treating it with the contempt it deserved. “Dungannon.”

“What is?”

“The woman who co authored the paper, Alice Dungannon.”

“What was the paper called?”

“Dormice as indicators of the health of broadleaf woodland.”

“Rivetting, what about the other one?”

“The other paper?”

“Duh,” she shook her head.

“Preferential factors in choice of nestbox use amongst dormice in East Sussex.”

“You do that on your own?”

“Mostly. It was the basis of my dissertation.”

“So what makes a nest box irresistible to a dormouse?”

“Dunno, do I.”

“But you got a BSc for it?”

“All I could do was measure what factors I could identify. They preferred tree mounted ones to posts. I played about with all sorts of data, measured heights from ground, directions they faced, types of tree plus analysed about a thousand records of surveys in the woods we used.”

“So that was what you were doing up in your room while wearing your little skirt and top was it?”

“Don’t forget the high heeled shoes, Stella.”

“So our little swot was all dressed up with lots of data to play with.”

“I spent weeks analysing data or out in the field collecting it.”

“That’s why they gave you a first, was it?”

“Gave who a first?” interrupted Tom having emerged from his study for a fresh coffee.

“Our favourite dormouse wrestler,” Stella teased.

“Och that, aye, wis deserved.”

“I don’t doubt it, Cathy was saying she spent hours analysing data for it.”

“Aye, why d’ye think I offered her a post graduate place here. She wis jest whit I needed f’ thae survey.”

“You head hunted her?”

“Aye, Esmond ken we were trying tae pit it together and told me aboot this clever young thing he had doing her BSc. He telt me aboot a’ the data you’d sorted and hoo ye’d influenced their future system of collection.”

“If she was so clever why didn’t he offer her the post grad thingy there?”

“I am here,” I said blushing.

“I telt ye, he ken’t we were daein’ the survey or looking tae dae it, he also ken’t she needed to move to sort hersel’ oot, an’ I had some experience o’ dealin’ wi’ it.”

“How come I didn’t get a transfer fee? If I’d been a footballer I would have done.”

Tom shook his head, “Ye got a master’s wis that no enough and material aplenty tae dae yer doctorate...”

“And half my wardrobe plus my brother and every waif and stray with gender problems in Portsmouth.”

“Okay, so it was a good move.” The sudden burst of heat through my skin tended to indicate that I didn’t feel half as nonchalant as I suggested. I owed a great deal to two crazy professors, a psycho nurse and her darling brother, and loads of needy children who in fulfilling their own need did the same for mine. I was possibly the luckiest woman alive. A yawn broke through my defences and I also considered I was also tiredest.

It was early to bed that night, almost before the children and I went off as soon as my head hit the pillow. I heard Si come up but didn’t move, he pecked my cheek and turned in himself.

“So you finally understand how we spent much time and effort enabling you to prepare for your task.”

“I thought that was just due to the fact that two professors knew each other and me and were aware that I had certain skills and needs.”

“How d’you think we operate?”

“I don’t know, milady.”

“Catherine, sometimes I feel you haven’t developed as much as you were supposed to. We might have to use Patricia, though she is but yet too young.”

“She is very young. Help me to improve my deficiencies to achieve whatever it is you wish me to do.”

“But we don’t exist outside your imagination, do we, Catherine?”

“I don’t know, milady.”

“So it would seem, Catherine, so it would seem.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2551 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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I had some recollection of the dream and the goddess telling me she was disappointed. I have weird dreams, but then I suppose dreams are usually weird anyway. Some are easy to explain, especially if you’ve been dealing with an issue, others are pretty opaque and inexplicable, except by so called experts. The problem with experts is that anyone can set themselves up as one without any qualification whatsoever. Some are indeed expert others not. I’m labelled as a dormouse expert, or a mammal survey expert, or ecology expert. I study dormice, run the most comprehensive survey ever undertaken on British Mammals and am a professional ecologist. I don’t claim to be expert on anything, but I know quite a bit about each of the topics I mentioned.

Perhaps I’m hung up on the old self esteem hook, I don’t have any, or very little. So I can easily say, I’m not a real expert on anything just like I’m not a real professor or even a real woman or real mother. In a literal sense depending upon definitions of different things, that would be true, but on a workaday basis, they’re not applicable as I function on a real basis in each of those things, and probably know more about dormice than most people.

After dropping the girls off at school, I went to my office to sign endless letters and authorise a few cheques. I was nominally a budget holder for the biological sciences faculty. However, most of the money was already allocated to staff costs or equipment when we got it. A small amount was transferred to the university library to pay for access to journals and buy as many books as we could get for the money. Trying to juggle the money to get the best outcomes for the most people was enough to drive most people mad. Being crazy to start with has advantages insofar as nobody notices new manias.

Just before lunch, Delia told me one of the shortlisted for my housekeeper post had phoned to confirm she would attend. Now if one of the others also confirmed, we’d at least have a contest. I don’t like interviewing as people are such liars today and I frequently seem gullible enough to believe what I’m told—until I discover my mistake and then woe betide them.

We went up to lunch in the refectory and had a jacket spud. To my disgust, they’d run out of tuna mayonnaise so I had to make do with cheese and onion. I had coleslaw with mine and together with a bit of salad garnish, it was actually quite good. The women who serve us know me quite well—they saw my film—so they often call me Dr Dormouse or given my proclivity for a certain type of fish, Professor Tuna. It’s done in good fun so I laugh at it asking if they have dormouse flavoured crisps yet—well they had the hedgehog ones years ago, which was a spoof by a well known crisp manufacturer.

In the afternoon, I had an hour of tutorial with a group of students. This isn’t a normal tutorial; I see every student, admittedly in a group of ten, for an hour. It gives them a chance to feedback on the course, advise me of their difficulties and the bits they enjoyed the most. It could degenerate into a grumble session except I try to keep it to a strict time table. So far so good.

I do it to show that I am accessible to the students, not just hiding in my ivory tower. The feedback has led to further investigation of things they didn’t like and to changes being made. Like I tell them, we use evidence based research in our laboratories so why not in the classroom as well? It also looks good on our prospectus. Sadly that’s important these days. We’re no longer an establishment looking to improve the minds of some young people but one which seeks to suck out the money from their grants or loans. We’re unofficially a business, except when I mention it some of my colleagues agree.

At three I departed to collect some ballast for the car in the shape of schoolgirls. I was late again, but as late as Trish, who had detention for insulting a teacher and being rudely personal about it.

I got the offence right first time, Sister Virginia, sounds like she promotes tobacco, whom Trish addressed as Sister Vagina, felt sufficiently insulted to seek redress. The punishment was for Trish to write a letter of apology, and it had to sound suitably contrite or she’d have to rewrite it.

Of course, Trish doesn’t do humble, so she’s often at logger heads with teachers for her arrogant putdowns. Some are suitably impressed but they know enough to let her perform and criticise, then when she gets tired, she gets challenged and usually falls into the trap, except she isn’t a typical child and if they get one over on her she keeps trying to get even, sometimes pretending that she looked long and hard at evidence to back up her arguments, which she then manufactures and sounds quite authentic, it isn’t of course but by the time she has caused chaos, no one checks her cited evidence, assuming it is correct. She is a real scallywag.

She regularly makes dismissive comments about me, she did last night assuming I didn’t understand her argument with Sister Virginia. I don’t know if I did or not because I committed the greater sin of not listening to her because I was tired. I’ve heard of proton tunnelling and while watching that thing about quantum biology by Jim Al Khalili, I know it came up then—though I’ve forgotten the context, except he had all these balls passing through walls instead of bouncing back as one would expect. Then with quantum, expect the unexpected.

Seeing as so much of what happens in biological processes is going to ultimately be at a subatomic level, I half expect one day to be told that hibernation involves it, the trigger to start it or to wake from it. We traditionally think it’s due to temperature, which it almost certainly is, but what actually happens inside the dormouse brain may well be quantum based; which probably the same inside the brain of the human when he or she first sees then handles a dormouse in the wild. I’ve handled hundreds and it still makes my heart beat a little faster when I find one in a nest box.

The three others were sitting talking with Sister Maria mostly about Danielle’s chances of actually getting a schoolgirl cap. Danni sounded positive, almost confident about it. I had to admit, she had a reasonable chance given her skill level. Sister Maria beamed a smile at the three of them. “An England schoolgirl cap would look good on the school’s list of accomplishment to accompany the ones for netball and badminton.”

I don’t know if my old school had any national champions or players in any sport except tormenting weirdos like me—that was their preferred sport. The school equivalent of fox hunting, where one relatively small animal is chased by a pack of dogs several times larger and morons on horses bigger still. They’re often cheered on by mindless hunt followers who like the Roman public in the days of the Coliseum or the British public when executions were held in public; something we’d find somewhat distasteful today, thank goodness.

A few minutes after I arrived, a nonchalant Trish was still complaining about her adversary’s lack of understanding of physics, despite holding a degree in said subject, and teaching it for a living. She shut up abruptly when she saw the headmistress who gave her a withering look.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2552 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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It seemed to be morning again with unseemly haste and the space between waking up and finding myself in work again, a frenzied blur of activity. I once went to the loo mid morning and discovered I had my knickers on onside out—auto pilot, it appears, can get it wrong. It didn’t happen today, however, and I know this because I checked—a worrying symptom if ever there was one.

Delia, who was going to the dentist first thing, left me a note to remind me of that fact and also to inform me the other two candidates from the housekeeper shortlist had confirmed their attendance. That meant we’d have to make a decision, though when I thought about it, we’d been making decisions since the process started. Therefore one more was neither here nor there, except this time round we’d have met the people we were engaging or not, as the case may be.

The three names we’d decided to interview, I passed on to James, they each came back as having no negatives attached and as being real people. He also checked out the references and it seemed they were all in order. If they had anything about them, they would soon find out who was employing them from the calls to Delia and the address to attend for the interviews—our home.

I glanced at Delia’s note again, ‘Don’t forget you have a lecture to do at ten.’ This was news to me. My watch suggested I had half an hour to discover what it was all about because I felt completely oblivious to it.

I checked the diary in her office and there it was in black ink under her note, D – dentist 9.00am. CW – lecture on Mammal Survey to Ecology 1 group.’ Why hadn’t she told me I’d forgotten it? I supposed the note on my desk did that to some extent. I checked the filing cabinet and found the file with my notes from the conference we’d done in August. I’d adapt that. It was nine thirty five, just time to make a cuppa and amble over to LT2, the smaller lecture theatre.

While drinking my tea, I glanced at the print out of the slides on the accompanying CD, I could use much of them including the photos of mammals—the red deer stag from Exmoor—was particularly impressive. I thought I’d have that as my backdrop while the students assembled—about a hundred of them.

Finishing my tea, I checked my hair and makeup—the one addition I’d made to Tom’s old office—a nice wall mirror above the fireplace, plus a vase of artificial flowers, mainly poppies in the boarded up hearth. I was wearing a hacking jacket in brown herringbone with velvet collar, a cream silk blouse and beige trousers. On my feet were brown ankle boots with two inch heels. A quick squirt of perfume and I grabbed my bag and lecture notes before strolling over to the lecture theatre.

This one was only an hour in duration so no need for coffee or toilet breaks. At ten to ten, I went in through the staff entrance and Colin, the technician, told me what equipment Delia had ordered—basically, the digital projector. We went out into the auditorium and the place was filling up nicely while a clip from the dormouse film played on the big screen behind me accompanied by Sibelius’ Karelia Suite intermezzo.

I wasn’t sure about the theatrics as it made the place appear like a cinema, all we needed now was popcorn and the advertising with too loud music. The disc was accepted by the computer controlling the visuals and I switched it over to the red deer stag—it was a cracking photo.

On commenting to Colin about the music and film clip before we started, he told me Delia had organised it. She’d told him that as I didn’t lecture that often and my performance was usually dramatic or memorable, she thought a build up of atmosphere was desirable. He agreed. I wasn’t sure if I did but that would teach me to check my diary next time.

At ten o’clock I began and noticed Delia slip in at the back as I began speaking. I did a quick greeting and then spoke briefly about the principles of running a survey, setting criteria carefully because we tend to find what we’re looking for be that the presence or absence of the target group. I showed a few funnies while explaining it, then after confirming the principles, explained that I would be using the current mammal survey as a specific example as the university was now recognised as internationally important through coordinating the survey.

I tried to make it as interactive as I could by extracting answers not just giving information—involve your audience or entrance them—it tends to keep them awake. We looked at selection of habitat as opposed to selecting species, it might be required to look at a patch of woodland to see what was there prior to clearance or seeking a conservation order to protect it.

I reminded them that some species required licences, such as dormice, shrews and water-voles, also most birds of prey were protected and permits would be needed to take or disturb them—I nearly added unless one was a game keeper and then you could kill or harry anything except humans with little interference from the law.

I allowed ten minutes for questions which tended to indicate some had stayed awake. This had been an overview of surveys and techniques, they’d be taught the fine details out in the field—which I was now doing less of than ever. It now appeared to be my lot to train others and supervise them, or even supervising the supervisors.

Finally, one or two always come to ask personal questions or challenge something that I said but after most people have left. That takes a few minutes to deal with so it was easily quarter past eleven when I returned to my office a moment after which Delia appeared with a tea and a chocolate biscuit.

I made no mention of seeing her sneak in to listen to me—she claims she can justify it by understanding what I do better by listening to me teach. As Pippa takes the phones while she’s out of the office, we don’t miss too much. It appeared that one of our shortlisted candidates had dropped out, possibly after working out who was offering the job. Oh well, their loss. I mean it’s hardly Downton bleeding Abbey, is it?

Tom asked me to lunch which usually means he wants to talk about something. He did, the withdrawal of the person from the housekeeper job. As they gave no reason, we could only speculate that they either, didn’t like the bank or saw the size of the house and didn’t fancy it. Either way, we consoled ourselves with the fact that we still had two so there would be some choice.

He enquired about my lecture and I was able to report that it went okay as far as I could determine. “Aye, Delia said sae.” I thought she worked for me, not him.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2553 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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“Did she give any reason for pulling out?” I asked Tom.

“Pippa took thae call but I’m sure if something had been said she’d hae said sae.”

“I’d have thought so too. I’m just curious.”

“Aye, sae am I.”

“If the other two drop out we’ll know something or somebody has happened.”

“Like whit?”

“Like they were nobbled or frightened off.”

“I mean if you were intent on doing us harm or anything else, how better than to have an insider feeding back to a larger group?”

“Tis a wee bitty far fetched.”

“Except that those sorts of things happen to us.”

“Us?”

“All right, to me.”

“Aye they dae that alricht.”

“Look I’m sorry, d’you want me to leave?”

“Leave? Leave whit?”

“Your house, I seem to only bring disaster and grief to you.”

“Aye ye do, but ye also bring love and life. I dinna ken hoo many times I’ve telt ye that m’ hoose is filled wi’ thae family m’ ain dochter couldnae hae given me. I’ll nivver tell ye tae gang, it’s yer hame f’ godsake.”

“Thank you, Daddy; I just need reassurance some days,” I said laying my hand on his.

“Aye, we a’ dae.” He took my hand and squeezed it gently.

All day Friday I was on tenterhooks in case another candidate withdrew, then I would have smelt a rat. On Saturday morning, I felt a little more confident, though was aware that we weren’t out of the woods yet. A withdrawal could be just a phone message away.

At nearly ten, the phone rang and I asked Jacquie to answer it, if it was a withdrawal I’d be very annoyed. It was one of the candidates but they couldn’t find us, just some big old house—Jacquie pointed out that was us. They then swore but five minutes later were parking their car in the drive. If they were a plant, they were very clever.

I asked Jacquie to keep the small folk away from us while were interviewing. The last thing I needed was Trish interfering in the employment process. She might be clever but she lacks understanding at times, or seems to.

A second car arrived and the first person waited for the second. They spoke briefly and walked towards the front door together. I wondered if they knew each other. The doorbell rang and I answered it.

“Uh—is this the right place for the housekeeper interviews?” asked a woman probably in her early forties. She was smartly dressed in a woollen coat and skirt with shoes of modest heel.

“Yes, do come in. Brrr, it’s cold isn’t it?” I said trying to appear friendly.

The second woman entered and I shut the door and offered to take their coats, which they divested and handed to me. I hung them on the coat stand behind the front door.

“Right, you are...?” I asked of the first one.

“Helen Manners,” she said smiling.

I glanced at the younger woman, who offered, “Lorraine Thorner.” Under her short coat she wore trousers and a fleece both in black. The older woman wore a checked skirt and plain cardigan.

“I’m Cathy Cameron, and I’ll be doing the interviews with my sister in law, Stella who’ll be down in a minute. Shall I just give you a quick tour of the place and then you’ll get an idea of what you’re in for.”

We started with the upstairs and I showed them the bedrooms on two levels, the attic rooms, then down to the sitting room, dining room, my study and the library, the kitchen and then the door to the cellar.

“It’s quite a big place.”

“It has to be, we have quite a few children between us. Coffee?” I asked switching on the kettle.

“Are you any relation to the Camerons who own the bank?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I just wondered how much cooking there’d be.”

“Not a great deal, we have a chef, so he does most of it, but you might be called upon to fill a gap if I’m not available and David is off.”

They both nodded.

“I have to warn you, the kids are pretty bright, so if you get the job they’ll be asking you all sorts of things.”

“Like what?” asked Lorraine.

“Like if you know anything about Quantum mechanics.”

“I don’t know anything about cars,” said Helen.

“It’s sub-atomic physics, one of my daughters is well into it.”

“She at university, is she?” asked Helen.

“No, she’s ten going twenty.”

“Ten?” they both gasped.

“She’s rather precocious.”

“So it seems.”

I handed them a coffee and invited them to sit at the kitchen table. Stella arrived and made herself a coffee then sat at the table as well where I introduced her.

“The reason I need a housekeeper is that I’m busy teaching at the university, Simon’s busy at the bank and Stella is a nurse specialist at the QA.”

“What d’you teach?” asked Lorraine.

“She’s professor of biological sciences,” responded Stella before I could swallow the mouthful of coffee I had.

“No wonder your girl is so bright, takes after her mum,” suggested Lorraine, I didn’t correct her.

The chat turned into an interview, yeah, I interviewed them together. Their references were fine and Jim had found nothing to indicate they were anything but okay. I pointed out that if we employed either of them there would be a confidentiality clause to be signed, primarily because we had children who could be harmed by disclosures. They seemed happy with that.

A half hour later I asked Stella to accompany me to the dining room. “I’m tempted to offer them both some work.”

“Is that wise?”

“I just thought it would give us extra cover for days off and so on.”

“Yeah, but how much will it cost?”

“Twice as much as one would.”

“What? You idiot,” she said smacking my arm.

“Follow my lead, okay?”

“Don’t I always?”

When it suits you, I didn’t say back to her. We re-entered the kitchen. “I have a proposition to put to you...”

It took some discussion and negotiation. Helen had her own house and didn’t really need accommodation, Lorraine did need somewhere to live. What we eventually agreed was that Lorraine would be available from seven in the morning until lunch time and Helen would do two until eight. They’d do alternate weekends from nine until twelve, longer by agreement if required. They’d have four weeks holiday but would be expected to cover the other at weekends if they were sick or on holiday.

Helen would get two hundred pounds a month extra as she wouldn’t be resident. Lorraine was happy with that. I also told them that if they were on duty at meal times they’d be welcome to eat with us.

They both accepted on the spot so we all shook hands and discussed starting dates. Lorraine could start next week and Helen the week after. I told them contracts would be sent to them and that we would organise a pension for them, which they would contribute towards but so would we. Details would be sent to them.

David arrived and we introduced them to each other. He smiled when he heard Lorraine was moving in next to him. She was probably eight or nine years younger but that’s up to them, I’m keeping well away from matchmaking.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2554 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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The sound of multiple hoof beats announced the arrival of the mouseketeers who demanded to know what happened.

“We’ve appointed two nice ladies to look after the house for us, and you’re all going to help them.”

“What?” went with the puzzled expressions.

“They’ll have plenty to do without you making work for them, so I want you all to make sure you put your dirty things in the correct laundry basket, and hang up your clean stuff in your wardrobes. You will all continue to learn how to look after yourselves like young women should, and if I don’t have time to show you, then Helen or Lorraine will.

“While they work for me, they are not servants, they are my helpers...”

Trish started saying something about Santa’s little helpers which caused the others to giggle but my glower stopped it in its tracks and they fell back to silence.

“It’s been very difficult getting help so I don’t want anyone to spoil things. I therefore want you all on your best behaviour, okay?”

They all sighed but agreed.

“They know nothing about you, so as far as they’re concerned you’re all normal young women. I’d like to see you all behave as such. Lorraine starts next week, Helen the week after. They won’t normally be working together. You’ll get the hang of it anyway. Remember, the reason they are here is to help me so I don’t get so tired and have more time for my work and for my family—which means you.”

They all cheered.

“It’s going to take a while for them to learn how I like things, so I don’t need you complicating the issue. Any questions?”

Somehow Danielle beat Trish off the mark. “I’ve got a match tomorrow, any chance you could take me, Mummy?”

“What time?”

“One o’clock kick off.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll ask David to do an evening meal.”

“Thanks, Mum, you’re the best. Oh, can I have some money to get some more eyeliner?”

“No, you’ve got your own money, spend some of it.”

“Aww, I’m saving for some new clothes.”

“And some eyeliner is going to delay that by weeks is it?”

“All right, can I go to town then?”

“Tell David if you’re not here for lunch, be back in time for dinner.”

“Can I bring Cindy back, for dinner, I mean?”

“If you tell David beforehand.”

“I will, thanks, Mum.”

“I’m not running her home so you’d better check with her mother first.”

“I will,” she called leaving the room.

“Which one is which?” asked Trish showing me photos of both our new housekeepers arriving.

“Where did you get these?”

“I took them.”

“Please delete them, you know which is which I told you earlier—and don’t take any more surreptitious photos, it’s against the law.” I didn’t know if it was or wasn’t true, I hoped it would stop her doing things like that which I thought was creepy but to Trish it seemed logical—wanna see what they look like, take photos—noooo.

The girls should have been playing soccer themselves for school but it was cancelled, the other team’s pitch was waterlogged. Pity, it would have used up some energy. Instead after lunch we went for a bike ride, then we took the two little ones off to feed the ducks. Cate chased after one and fell in some mud and cried until we got her home and in the bath. Some days...

When I thought of Danni and Cindy going into town I remembered the day they were chased by the yobs from her old school. They wouldn’t chase her now unless they wanted a date, she had quite quickly turned into first class school boy crumpet. She didn’t realise how attractive she was and with such a lovely figure so she stayed mostly with other girls. Once she knew it, she’d likely be a right little minx. At least she couldn’t get pregnant, but she’s still only coming up fourteen, so well under age for grown up games, no matter what she will one day think and argue with me. I worry sometimes what will happen when she goes away with her football teams. I guess I’ll just have to trust her.

Nothing else happened that day and switching the main meal to the evening on the Sunday, suited David very well—he was helping Lorraine move some of her stuff into the cottage. He did roast leg of pork which was delicious.

In the morning after breakfast, I did some survey work assisted by Livvie who typed stuff onto the computer as I called it out. I was able to feed Lizzie while I worked because Liv was doing the two handed stuff—she’s quite a good typist. An early lunch followed and Danielle went off to change for her footie. I did too, putting on some warm clothes and shoving my walking boots in the boot of the car. If I stood on the touchline I wasn’t going to get cold feet which wellingtons would cause. Just in case I took my iPad, so I could do some work or read the paper via the internet.

That was what happened, Pompey ladies thrashed Hastings ladies by four goals to one. Danni made one goal and scored two of the other three. She could have had a hat trick but passed to let one of her team mates get on the score sheet. It would have been obvious to a blind man she was a level above the others in football skills. If she didn’t make England school girls, then they must have some really useful players. Unbeknownst to both of us, one of the England coaches was watching the match. After dinner that evening I had a phone call to ask me if she’d be available for a training game the following Wednesday. Thinking it was her club I told her she trained with them on Wednesdays, so what was going on? When the chap told me it was an England schools training day, I nearly dropped the phone.

Mima came past as I put the phone down and I asked her to send Danielle down to me. “Give this note to Sister Maria on Monday.”

“Okay,” she said and turned to leave.

“Don’t you want to know what it’s about?”

“You want to tell Sister Maria something, I s’pose.”

“That’s true, you’re not interested in knowing what?”

“It’s probably about Trish.”

“It isn’t, it’s about you.”

“Oh, what have I done now?”

“You played a blinder, that’s what.”

“Yeah, so?”

“England schoolgirls want you for a training session on Wednesday evening at Reading again.”

“But I’m busy on Wednesday with my club...”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, Engl... oh shit, oh shit—it’s a selection game. I could get a call up and either be a reserve or actually play. Oh wow, Mummy.” She was laughing and crying and bouncing round my study and I felt as excited as she was. The fact we’d changed her name from Maiden to Cameron, should help stop her being recognised but it was still a risk and once she’d calmed down I had to remind her. I hoped it wouldn’t happen but you never can tell, especially if she was picked and scored a goal or something—then the local press might pick up on it and if there was a photo she could be recognised. I asked her how she’d fancy being a redhead. She paused and nodded. I’d ask Julie to do it for her—it might help her disguise.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2555 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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Julie had her down the salon the following evening, Danni caught the bus to the salon and big sister brought her home. Her normally mousey hair was now a deep auburn and changed her appearance significantly.

My day had been mainly meetings, tutorials and trying to stay awake while reading someone’s MSc dissertation. If you’ve never read one, lucky you. Unless you’re really into the subject, it’s drier than blotting paper, with no diversions or distractions. I spent two hours of my life trying to read it instead of my complying with my body’s desire to zonk.

I informed Delia that I was taking the afternoon off on Wednesday as I had to take one of the girls somewhere. Sister Marie texted me to say she was happy to let her off for the afternoon for the England trial. I’d wait for her and bring her home afterwards. I could take my iPad and do some work if I could get a signal. We were all excited for her and I hoped she’d get a cap just to prove she’d done something special. It might encourage Trish to try and follow in her footsteps, though I suspect Trish would rather win a Nobel prize for physics—discovering her brain was bigger than the universe or some such thing. Perhaps finding the latest equivalent of the Higgs boson, the Watts boson or whatever; whereas, Julie would rather discover a bosun called Higgs—hello sailor.

Collecting the girls at half past three proved to be the highlight of the day, though all four of them were as excitable as a box of baby frogs, I felt glad to be able to hide in my study on the pretext of working. Dinner was a nightmare and Simon lost his temper with them because they had a contagion of giggle fits. As always happens, the more giggly they got, the more angry he became and that increased the tension which made both even worse.

Finally, I made the girls leave the table and go upstairs. I had a cuppa before going to sort them out, it sort of eased my nerves slightly. “Look, we know that this might be the most important day in Danielle’s life short of actually being selected and we’re all excited for her, but we have to stay grounded.”

“Wassat mean, Mummy?” asked Mima.

“It means we have to try and stay calm. There is a strong possibility that she might not be selected, so we just have to try and be patient. If she is picked, then I’ll try and see if we can get tickets to go and see her play—provided you stay calm in the interim.”

They all confirmed they’d love to see her play, so while we were up in Reading, I would enquire where the game was likely to be and how we acquired tickets. I assumed Simon and Tom would want to go if they could, so I’d be looking to buy about a dozen tickets.

It was nearly eight so I organised them for bed and read them a chapter of a Gaby story. They preferred the earlier ones because the cycle races were easier to understand. So that was what I read to them, one of the earlier stories—or a chapter from it. They went off to sleep and I slipped down for a cuppa to find Simon and Danielle in deep discussion. Effectively, he was offering to buy her some new boots if she got selected. Apparently they were gold or red or orange. I suggested that such easily identified objects could be used to help opposition players mark her as a potential game winner. As the stakes are higher in that sort of game than a club match, it also meant that cynical opponents might take her out of the game by injury or frightening her by rough tackles. She would likely be one of the younger and smaller players so particularly vulnerable.

“Mum, I was playing boys soccer until last year, that is always rough. I’ll cope with bigger girls, like that Gaby character, if I look a bit girly I might get a chance to do something before they realise what I’m capable of.”

“I don’t know sweetheart, they’ll be aware that anyone who gets picked has got to be half decent in the first place.”

“I think I’ll be able to show ’em one or two things they wonta seen.”

“Perhaps, darling, why don’t you get an early night, you’re going to need all the energy you can find for the training session.”

She took my advice and after kissing everyone goodnight, she went off to bed. I checked an hour later, she was still awake, reading some football book. I glanced at her and noticed her eyelashes seemed thicker and darker than usual. “Um what exactly have you done to your eyelashes?” I asked.

“Oh, that was Julie’s idea, she dyed them and added some extra lashes to make me look different.”

“They do that all right, not sure what Sister Maria will say.”

“I told her I was having my hair done to try and disguise me a little. She said it was okay.”

I smiled as I kissed her goodnight, I suspect Sister Maria wouldn’t have considered having very thick, dark lashes in quite the same category as a hair do, but it could certainly make her look extra girly. Perhaps we should have gone for platinum blonde—duh.

“What was that about new boots?” I asked Simon as we snuggled in bed.

“I thought it might be nice to buy her some new ones if she gets selected.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer if she wore ones she’d already broken in?”

“Probably.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t offer her a hundred quid bonus for every goal she scored.”

“Fifty, remember I’m a big bad banker.”

“Since when?”

“Hush, you’ll blow my credibility.” I nearly joked about blowing something else, felt myself get all hot and bothered and started talking about the weather instead, hoping it wouldn’t affect her training session or our trips to and from Reading.

“They say it’s going to be pretty bad along the east coast of the States,” he offered obviously having watched the news. “Oh did you hear about the UKIP guy who was on about shemales, saying the NHS shouldn’t be paying for such things as gender surgery?”

“I heard about it. It didn’t really surprise me because anyone who thinks they represent anything but xenophobic bigots hasn’t read between the lines.”

“A bit harsh on them aren’t you?”

“No, they’re reactionaries looking to blame everyone but themselves for the country’s ills—but then it worked quite well for Hitler. He’d probably be rounding up transsexuals along with gays and gypsies and Jews for his extermination camps.”

“Ouch, you are anti UKIP aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but then if they have a right to criticise transsexual people don’t I have a right to do the same to them?”

“But you’re not transsexual, are you? You’re female.”

“There are quite a few vulnerable people who are still on the long road of self discovery and jumping through the hoops to get GRS. I’m angry on their behalf. The numbers of assaults on transgender people is rising, probably faster than the increase in numbers of trans people. The UKIP loony who made that statement, even though it was a few years ago, is the sort who gives credibility to such assaults. That’s why I despise him and his ilk.”

“Be careful, Cathy, leave the politics to the self seeking morons who run for office, don’t get involved, you have children to protect.”

“I won’t get involved, I don’t trust any of them, even someone from the Green party is supposed to have made some transphobic tweets.”

“Oh dear, I’d have thought you were a natural to support the Greens.”

“Yeah, cabbages, broccoli and celery. I’m going to sleep now, night.” I kissed him and turned over on my side.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2556 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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Episode 213 dozen for all our dodecaphiles.

Tuesday proved to be a day when I couldn’t concentrate on anything much because I was worried about the next day and the trip to Reading. I was thinking more about packing the car with shovels and flasks of hot water, K rations and wellingtons than I was about tutorials or even teaching.

“Professor—yoo hoo.”

I came back to the present with a start. “Ooh, sorry, Delia, what did you want?”

“Is something worrying you?”

“A little. My daughter has to go to Reading tomorrow for a selection and training session.”

“Selection for what, Professor?”

“Sorry, didn’t I say? The England schoolgirl’s football team.”

“Wow, you must be so proud of her.”

“I am, but she hasn’t been selected yet.”

“Isn’t that just a formality? If she takes after you, she’ll be in all right.”

“I have two left feet, Delia; I could no more bend it like Beckham, than I could conjugate like Boris.”

She looked blankly at me. “I get the gist I think, who’s Boris and what’s conjugating?”

Sometimes this is like talking to my children. “Boris is mayor of London. Conjugation is something that’s done to verbs, especially in Latin. Boris studied classics.”

“Was that before he won Wimbledon?”

“Wimbledon?”

“Yeah, wasn’t he the youngest man to win the men’s singles?”

“He rides a bike but I don’t think he ever won Wimbledon, I think we’ve got our Borises mixed up.”

“Boris Beckham, he won Wimbledon, didn’t he?”

“Uh, I think you mean Boris Becker, the German tennis player?”

“Yeah, what did I say then?”

“Boris Beckham.”

She laughed and showed a mouthful of small white teeth with no obvious fillings. “Oops, that is so funny.” To prove her point she laughed again.

“What did you want?”

“Oh, I’ve forgotten now.” She scratched her head, “Oh yes, the Dean wants you to go to lunch with him.” I didn’t really want to go to eat with anyone, especially Daddy. “He’ll come by at twelve, he told me to tell you to be ready.”

I glanced at my watch, it was only ten to ten, how was I going to survive for another two hours?

“You remembered you had a tutorial in ten minutes?”

“What, this morning?”

I checked my diary and there in an alien hand was the tutorial with Janice Beer, another MSc candidate. I was horrified, I couldn’t think of anything to say to her apart from well done. I consulted my diary and discovered it was in this room. Oh dear.

I dashed down to the staff loo and after returning the fluid if not the actual tea, I brushed my hair, freshened my lippy, powdered my wotsit and squirted a little perfume on myself.

We usually used a neutral room rather than my office, too many distractions; but if this all that was available, it would have to do. While Delia did something useful—making us coffee, I quickly perused Janice’s coursework and outline for her dissertation. I’m not assessing it, but I appear to be her tutor, a hangover from my previous position as reader rather than professor—oh well, I’m sure we’ll both cope.

Janice was a pleasant girl of about twenty four with dirty blonde hair, glasses and freckles. When she laughed, she showed higgledy-piggledy teeth, a sure sign of overcrowding—didn’t her parents do dentists? Perhaps not, they were missionaries or something so probably spent all their time looking after the dental health of kids in darkest Africa and neglected their own. Janice went to boarding school in the midlands near Nottingham.

The notes I’d made earlier contain criticisms and compliments, she was happier researching papers in a library than in the field or even a laboratory. Quite what she was doing biology for, I never quite discovered. I had to try and encourage her to do some lab or fieldwork unless she altered her dissertation title to a theoretical view. She seemed happier to do that than go and count dormice or even weeds on the path.

I’d even suggested that to her, to clear a strip of her garden and see what colonised it in what order. Then she could research colonisation strategies of various plants and write up a report on it. She didn’t want to do it, so I gave the idea to another girl who nearly hugged me to death. She went off to do test areas in various places, to be checked every week. I declined to supervise that one, she needed a botanist to ensure identification of every species she encountered.

In the end Janice agreed to do a meta analysis for her master’s, though I left her to think what she’d be analysing. I suspect it would involve something that had a large numbers of papers written such as diseases in bees or pesticide use and its effect upon wildlife. I wished her well, finding then reading a large number of papers then analysing them, wasn’t my idea of a fun afternoon. But we’re all different.

Lunch with Daddy was ‘aboot the twa lassies’ I’d engaged to keep house for us. I answered all his queries, including pointing out the sacred space he called his study. I’d be sure to tell them to touch nothing. I felt like a prefect reporting to the duty teacher.

He also asked me about my trip to Reading and to be sure to see the weather forecast and take any necessary measures to ensure we got home safely. Then we talked about Danielle’s chances of getting picked for the team. I told him that as I didn’t have their criteria for selection, I had no idea if she’d be picked or not. As her mum, I naturally felt she was the best player since Stanley Matthews, but I wasn’t sitting on the selection committee and had no idea of strategies they were planning on playing. I didn’t even know who they were playing or when, let alone where.

“Ye can find oot while Danni’s showin’ then hoo tae play thae game.” I told him that that was exactly what I had in mind, depending upon who was at the session. I also wanted to know where I got tickets. “Oh aye, get me a ticket, hen.” I wondered if he thought I was going to lay him one.

It was too soon time to return to our respective ivory towers where I had one more tutorial to do. I lead such a fun life—not. Another MSc candidate who was the opposite of Janice, he was hands on with little or no theory. Unless you quote source material it’s very difficult to make a positive case for observing certain behaviour.

That was such a difficult hour because he didn’t seem to get the idea at all and I wondered how he got a bachelor’s degree—it was probably a BA and in something like flower arranging or soft porn. I honestly wondered what some of them were doing on this course. Oh well, it pays my salary, so it can’t be all bad, can it?

Time to collect the mouseketeers.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2557 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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Wednesday, another meeting with the finance people, they want to cut my budget, I threaten to resign and take the dormouse project and mammal survey with me. They think about calling my bluff until one of them remembers I’m married to one of the richest and most powerful families in the country. To up the ante, I told them the bank would withdraw the study centre and various other loans it has with the university.

“But that’s blackmail?”

“No it isn’t, I might have accepted that I was warming up my financial muscle and essentially, I could destroy much of this university in two phone calls. Other investors would think that there was something going on and withdraw as well. Within forty eight hours, you’d all be on the dole and the bank’s bailiffs would be taking possession of most of the campus. You’d be bankrupt within a week.”

“You’re trying to intimidate us,” squeaked the second finance officer.

“No, I’m simply reporting consequences if I left, naturally if I did go I might not prevent the bank seeking to renegotiate or rescind loans.”

“You were threatening us.”

“If I’d been threatening you, you’d have known it, don’t you worry. I was simply pointing out consequences.”

“I doubt the university council would see it that way.”

“Would you like me to ask them at the next meeting I attend?”

He gave me a look that would melt steel but not women, I was therefore unfazed by it.

“Why shouldn’t your department face cuts?”

“Because it brings in more revenue than any other in this faculty. If I leave, so will many of your students.”

“That’s preposterous, you think you can just ride roughshod over anyone’s life.”

“If that were true, I’d only have to make one phone call to deliver your name and address to the bank, like so.” I pressed speed dial on my Black Berry and they heard it dialling. “Then, by the time I’d finished, your house would be history as the bank would have withdrawn your mortgage and blacklisted you.”

They heard a voice answer the other end and capitulated. I cancelled the call to our doctor. They’d been double bluffed.

“My courses have twice as many students as most of the others, they therefore pay for themselves. I don’t expect to have to defend them against cuts again. Good day gentlemen.” They left immediately.

I knew that wouldn’t be the end of it and I also knew that Daddy would be less than pleased with me flexing my financial muscle, but I was sick of desk jockeys telling me what to do with regard to running a department. Before me I had a spreadsheet with all our outgoings on one side and our income on the other. We were in credit, my department paid for itself and also money to the university. Admittedly, that wouldn’t be the case without some generous grants from the bank and several other bequests, plus their share of the money made from my two films. The harvest mouse had been shown in Holland and Spain, Australia and a Canadian broadcaster was thinking about it having shown our dormouse film last year.

The BBC had bought the harvest mouse as well but weren’t showing it until Easter when I’ll get complaints from farmers about the public trampling corn fields looking for harvest mice. I hope they don’t find too many ticks, the public that is, especially with the increasing spread of Lyme disease or Lyme borreliosis. I was still pondering which would be worse, daddy’s wrath or Lyme disease when Delia buzzed me.

“There’s someone from local radio wants to you about grey squirrels.”

“Okay, put him through,” I said while my head was saying, I do dormice not squiggles. “Hello, Cathy Watts,” I replied to his cursory greeting.

“Is that doctor or professor Watts?”

“I’m a professor but also have a doctoral degree, will that do?”

“Course, look we’re doing a thing on grey squirrels and Defra’s intention to cull them.”

“Right, is that it?”

“Well I have some questions about squirrels and hoped you might answer them.”

“Is this being recorded?”

“No, I was hoping we could do it live.”

“What, now?”

“In about five minutes.”

“Don’t get too specific in detail like asking about weight and size. Everyone will have seen a grey, it’s reds they may or may not be familiar with.”

“No, that’s fine. You’re an expert on rodents?”

“Dormice yes, other species less so.”

“You made that film on the dormouse, didn’t you?”

“Yes, there’s one on the harvest mouse on the BBC over Easter.”

“Great. You wearing those shorts again?”

Why do they always ask about the shorts? “I can’t remember, long time since I saw it.” I am actually but he doesn’t need to know that.

“We’re going live...now. The government is intending to cull grey squirrels to attempt to reduce their numbers to help red squirrels compete and reduce damage to woodlands. I’m talking to Professor Cathy Watts from Portsmouth University who’s an expert on rodents and who made that delightful film about dormice last year. She’s done one on harvest mice which will be out on the BBC at Easter.

“Professor Watts, are you in favour of the cull?”

Try me with a hard one why don’t you? “Insofar as the grey squirrel is an alien, carries squirrel pox and does damage, they should perhaps have thought of doing it a hundred years ago.”

“So it’s not like the badger cull, which I believe you were against?”

“I was because none of the scientific data backed it up, in fact it looked as if most scientists were against the badger cull because it was likely to spread not reduce the spread of bovine TB. Squirrels are a different proposition entirely, and being smaller are more easily killed with shotguns, so you don’t need marksmen—though the badger cull made me wonder what the government’s definition of marksmen actually was.”

“They carry a disease, grey squirrels, that is?”

“Squirrel pox, which is endemic to them but which they seem to have a large degree of immunity. Alas red squirrels are susceptible and if they catch it, it’s almost always fatal. It causes infected ulceration which must be very painful for the poor reds.”

“Sounds horrible. You’ve been responsible for mapping the distribution of red squirrels, where’s the best place to see them?”

“Either up in the far north of England or over the border in Scotland, or on some islands like Brownsea, to which the greys haven’t spread.”

“And grey squirrels are bigger than red ones?”

“Yes, about half as big again, and they spend much more time on the ground than red squirrels.”

“Thank you, Professor Watts, from Portsmouth University. Don’t forget to watch her latest nature film on harvest mice over Easter. Feel free to email or text me about how you feel about this grey squirrel cull, are you for or agin it?

“Now, the next topic. We’ve had a UKIP and a Green party representative say they don’t agree with people having sex changes on the NHS and in a moment we’re going to speak with Miss Paris Lees, who’s an official spokeswoman for the transgender lobby...”

I was so glad they had Paris dealing with it rather than me. My heart was still pounding—what a coincidence of topics. Phew, that was close—too close.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2558 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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“Why d’ye hae tae threaten them?”

“I only said I’d leave and take the dormouse project and mammal survey with me.”

“An’ get thae bank tae withdraw sponsorships no tae mention calling in mortgages. I canna believe ye said that.”

“I can’t remember if I did or not, they got right up my nose and I just wanted rid of them. It worked.”

“Aye but if they complain, yer position here cud be difficult.”

“What d’you want me to do—resign?”

“No of course not.”

“I’m not apologising. My courses are some of the few making profits for the university, I won’t stand for some numbskull laying down the law about making cuts.”

“Aye, that wis a wee bitty unfortunate.”

“Oh sod it, if he wants to complain let him. I’ll leave and take my toys with me.”

“And destroy the university?”

I shrugged.

“Whaur’s thae young lassie who wis worrit aboot her students jest a few weeks ago?”

“Still here, but I don’t know for how much longer.”

“If ye feel that way perhaps ye shud resign.”

He went to leave my office where the drama had taken place. “Daddy.”

“Whit?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s no me ye need tae apologise tae, is it?”

“I’m not apologising to that cretin.”

“Sae yer no sorry, then?”

“I’m sorry I involved you in unnecessary bother.”

“Aye, sae am I.”

“I’ll resign then.”

“Aye.”

“When d’you want me to go?”

“Efter, July.”

“But that’s six months.”

“Aye, sae it is.” His eyes sparkled and he closed the door. “I needed to mak ye see how inappropriate yer behaviour wis. Noo ye’ve let thae penny drap, I can tell ye tae apply f’ thae job f’ next year.”

“What about you—are you not coming back?”

“I’ve telt them, I’ll dae thae dean’s job f’ anither year then I want tae retire.”

I nodded then felt sad. This place will be much lonelier when you do leave.”

“Och, I’m only one cog in a huge engine.”

“Well you taught me a great deal.”

“Guid, perhaps that’s why it’s called a university?”

“Very funny.”

He chuckled at his own joke, “Ye’ve taught me things tae.”

“How to mess things up without really trying.”

“No, aboot love an’ haeing a family aboot thae place.”

“That could be a mixed blessing.”

“Aye, it cud be, but it wisn’t.”

I glanced at the clock, “I’ve another tutorial in ten minutes, Daddy.”

“Ye’re a good teacher, Cathy, ye’ll mak a guid professor once ye learn tae avoid confrontation—an’ learn hoo t’ mak a decent cup o’ coffee.”

The tutorial dragged on. Robert Kirk was hard work. I did make him smile for a few moments but that felt like weeks ago. He took everything so literally that you had to be careful what you said. I’d had him as a struggler when I was a reader in the department and I didn’t have the heart to transfer him to anyone else.

Eventually the hour was up and I could disappear to get ready to take Danielle up to Reading for the football training. The forecast was still ominous, today being the supposed transition day when the weather changed from being mild and damp to cold and wet or even snow. I collected her from school and we drove home to get some lunch which David was organising for us. To my delight he did Spanish omelettes which I absolutely love, so I forgave him the lack of tuna. Though when we left an hour or so later, he’d made us up a picnic to take with us which included tuna salad rolls—all home baked—flasks of hot water for tea or coffee, plus I have this gadget you can run from the cigarette lighter point which you place in a cup and it heats the water. I suspect it would flatten a battery if the engine isn’t running, but he’d packed it in this hamper he’d packed for us. I reminded him we girls didn’t eat that much but he just laughed and said Danni ate her share of food. It’s true she still eats like a boy, even though her figure is definitely female.

My car as you know is a Jaguar XRF estate and by the time we left it was piled with warm clothes, a folding shovel, a piece of old carpet, blankets, the food hamper and the water heater thing, plus a couple of litres of water. I felt like we were heading off on an expedition to the Antarctic, the only thing missing were the dog teams and the crevasse ladders. So I think we were pretty well prepared for anything—except earthquakes and tsunamis and they don’t have many of either round Reading way. Having said that Winchester apparently had two minor shocks this week.

I also had my iPad, my sat nav and the Guardian, just in case I didn’t watch the training. On the way out of Portsmouth we filled the tank of the car which seeing as we weren’t going that far was enough to do the journey two or three times.

We chatted en route and Danni asked if I’d seen that Jaguar had brought out a new model, the XE which is smaller than mine to compete with the executive car market, especially the BMWs. I hadn’t seen the reports so she called it up on my iPad and read the specs to me as I drove. For the money they sounded quite a lot of car, but then, I’m a Jaguar fan—not as bad as Simon—can you believe he has some boxers with the Jaguar logo on them, I ask you.

Being early, we stopped at the services near the football stadium and had a cuppa and a biscuit, neither of us that hungry after a substantial lunch. She registered and I enquired about the next school girl game. It was at this stadium in February against Germany. They gave me the website so I could order tickets then told me Danni would be able to claim a couple if she was picked as a player or reserve. She disappeared into the building to change and begin warming up, I went back to the car and listened to the weather forecast, it was not encouraging.

We’d had the odd shower, the next one was accompanied with sleet and then a couple of snow flurries—wonderful, just what I need. I wondered if perhaps we should have packed the dog team.

Danni returned three hours later. “When do you get to hear if you’ve been selected?”

“They’ll be in touch, the match isn’t for three weeks.”

“Okay, ready to go home?”

“Oh yeah, I’m knackered now.”

“D’you want a sandwich or roll before we set off?”

“Nah, they gave us a few biscuits earlier.”

As we left Reading so the snow began to fall making it difficult to see where we were going and also changing the landscape. We were only driving back the way we came but it looked so different. Danni had nodded off so it was the radio for company and the swish of the windscreen wipers. It looked like the return trip was going to present certain challenges—oh poo.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2559 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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The radio informed that the motorway was blocked in both directions by accidents—oh joy. Now I’d have to do it by A roads. At least they should have been gritted because the outside air temperature was minus two. Danni continued to slumber in her seat which she’d tilted back to recline a little. Part of me even considered going back into Reading and staying overnight going home in the daylight. Except with a night of frost on top of snow, it would be even more treacherous to drive on. If the truth be told, I wished Simon was with me and better still, doing the driving.

I pulled into the side and reprogrammed the sat nav to take us home without use of motorways. It wasn’t happy—only I could have an argument with a machine—and lose. The route was fairly straightforward, ain for Basingstoke, then Alton, then Petersfield down the A3 and onto the M27 and home. Driving at much less speed than I usually go, we trundled towards Basingstoke, another dormitory town for commuters to London. The snow seemed to ease here and I found the ring road and even glanced a sign for Alton. So far so slow.

The radio, ever a source of delight, now informed me that the A3 was closed due to a pile up in the snow. Things were not getting any better. Oh well, keep on to Petersfield and have a look at the map, besides, the speed we were going it would be spring before we got there. As if to improve my mood the snow came down in large thick flakes, it didn’t.

Danni woke up as we stopped behind a car which presumably had stopped behind one in front of it. It is suggested this is how traffic jams begin, I wasn’t going to argue. “Where are we?” she asked yawning.

“Somewhere in Hampshire, I hope heading towards Petersfield.”

“Why we goin’ there?”

“I thought it was such a pretty name, I’d like to see it.”

“It’s dark an’ it’s snowin’.”

“So it is, I’m so glad you came I hadn’t noticed either.”

The car in front started to do a turn in the road and I could now see a line of red lights going off into the distance. He wound down his window before driving off and shouted, “Accident up there, road’s closed.”

Brilliant, now do I sit in the traffic and hope the road is cleared before I get to pensionable age, or turn round and try another route.

“Where are we?” asked my daughter looking at the atlas.

“Somewhere between Basingstoke and Alton.”

“Geez, Mum, it’s all tiny little roads everywhere if you turn off in the dark we’ll get lost.”

“Nothing is moving, we could be here all night. If we could get to the A31 we could either go up to Guildford or down towards Winchester.”

“It’s quite exciting though, innit?”

“Is it, I hadn’t noticed,” mind you I think I was running on depleted adrenalin having used most of it getting this far.

“Get ready to set the sat nav, I’m going to turn around.”

“Okay,” she piped not sounding half as worried as I felt.

The Jaguar is not a small car and turning it round on a country lane is not easy, especially in a blizzard, in being a white car, there was perhaps a slight extra risk in snow of not being seen by other road users. Finally we drove off again and in the pitch dark and quietude of the snow, the windscreen wipers seemed unduly loud. I’d switched off the radio because it was distracting me, so everything felt muffled.

We found a village or hamlet called Lasham and we turned left towards Golden Pot—I know, it sounds as if I’m making this up, but I’m not. “Turn right here somewhere,” suggested Danni and we nearly ended up in someone’s driveway. A couple of hundred yards further on I found the road and we entered Alton.

The snow eased off and as we approached a pub with a large car park Danni asked if we could stop for a wee. I pulled into the pub and parked the car. I thought I’d have one as well and perhaps a coffee to keep me alert. Refreshed, we set off again as far as the A31 only to find everything was crawling along. I opted for the B3006 which according to the map showed it was pretty well a direct link to the A3 near Petersfield, well Greatham not far from Liss. I was nearly on home ground, I’ve cycled all round here—okay it was daylight and not snowing—but you get my drift, not a snowdrift.

Seemed as if quite few other people had the same idea, including the prat behind who had his fog-lights on. The snow had eased somewhat, so it was no longer blizzard conditions. I flipped on my rear fog lights a couple of times but he didn’t seem to get the message, so I left them on. They are so bright it’s uncomfortable to drive behind them. I suspect they can be seen from the international space station. We hit traffic and came to a stop, the guy from behind got out of his car and tapped on my window.

“Switch off those fucking lights, it’s blinding me.”

“Switch yours off then.”

“Fuck off, just because you’ve a fuckin’ Jaguar don’t mean you own the fuckin’ road.”

Just then the traffic moved and I drove off, someone was beeping him from behind.

“Nice guy, if all men are like him I’m glad I’m a girl,” Danni muttered and I tapped her leg.

“Take it from me, kiddo, they’re not, but there are quite a few like that.” I switched off the fog lights and before our friend with the limited vocabulary caught us up we reached the A3 and drove on to Petersfield.

ET phoned home to say where we were and whatever the blockage had been it had been cleared and we sailed down the road towards the M27. We were nearly home and the fields were green near the coast. If the truth be told, they looked black in the dark but at least they weren’t white as they’d been back up country.

It was midnight when we got home and I felt exhausted. We ate the sandwiches, or some of the ones David had made for us—I put the rest in the fridge while Si unloaded the car. I’d take sandwiches with me for my lunch tomorrow—should be nicer than the refectory ones.

We related our drive back in gruesome detail, Danni telling Simon about the lout with the foul mouth. He shook his head and muttered something I didn’t catch. Danni was sent up to bed a moment later as she had school tomorrow, but then I had work to go to and another meeting with finance. I asked Daddy to sit in with me and he agreed. I hoped with him there I wouldn’t go off on one and also that the accountants wouldn’t try to get even. Apparently, their manager was coming with them. What a fun life I lead.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2560 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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“By the way,” said Simon as we were snuggling down in bed, me having difficulty staying awake, “I got Steve Campbell to check your accounts.

“What accounts?” I muttered nearly in the arms of Morpheus.

“Your departmental ones.”

“Oh right.” One moment I was milliseconds from sleep and the next moment I was sitting up in bed wide awake. “You did what?”

“I got Steve to look them over, he said they’re okay.”

“You have no right to...” I felt as angry with him as I did the university parasites the other day.

“I asked Tom, okay?”

“But you went behind my back...”

“No, you were busy with Danielle.”

“I’ve got a phone.”

“You’d have said no.”

“I might not have.”

“Yes you would, you’d have thought I was interfering.”

“You were.”

“Look I spoke to Tom and asked him if it would help if we let Steve look at your accounts, to make sure they were correct.”

“They were, I did them myself.” He didn’t say it but I know he was thinking, ‘That’s why.’

“So who’s this Steve whatever?”

“He’s a certified auditor, does forensic work for the bank. He’s one of the best in the country.”

“How much did that cost?”

“I popped it on the bank’s account, but hey, for my wife nothing is too expensive.”

“Prove it,” he’d annoyed me so I was going to annoy him.

“Okay,” he was hot and bothered, I couldn’t see it in the dark but I could have made toast on his face.

“Did you know that Jaguar had brought out an XE class.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to change down to a smaller car do you?”

“No, I want you to buy one for Julie and she can give her Smart car to Phoebe.”

“You want me to spend twenty five grand to say sorry, when I was acting in your interests?”

“You could have phoned.”

“Promise me you’ll never negotiate against me.”

“Promise Julie the car and I’ll promise that as long as we’re still together, I won’t.”

“Odd sort of wording—you planning on splitting us up then?”

“Not as long as you don’t go behind my back again, but if we were then I’d have to fight my corner, wouldn’t I?”

“I said I’m sorry, look Tom said he was concerned they could find a mistake and invalidate your position financially. I told him I had a friend who could help. He’s emailed you a certificate of audit.”

“Thank you.” I lay down with him cuddled into my back, then I sat up turned round and pecked him on the cheek.

“What’s that for?” he asked I turned back and lay down again.

“For making Julie’s year.”

“Oh that,” he said, “I’ll probably go for a lease hire one, that way she won’t have any bills as long as she doesn’t bash it or overdo the mileage.”

“Fine, providing you get her another when the lease runs out.”

“All right, I’ll buy her one, an ex-demonstrator.”

“Fine, night night,” I closed my eyes and I slipped into and exhausted sleep. I half expected it to be white the next morning but it wasn’t. It was frosty and the sun tried to peep through the clouds.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower where a momentary fall of cold water made me squeal but certainly woke me up before the warm wet stuff washed away my tiredness. I dressed immaculately in a business suit, a Versace one and did my makeup and hair to complement it. My hair was up, so was my dander, meeting the accounts team put me on my mettle. Given the chance they’d do me or my credibility real damage; but then I wasn’t looking to take prisoners either—part of me wondered if I should have worn plaid and painted myself blue—but that would have warned them of my intentions. I was going to harry them every step of the way, you might say even off-woad. Well you try to fit it into a conversation. ‘I have a blue bike,’ ‘Oh yes, a racing bike?’ ‘No an off-woad one.’ See what I mean?

I called the girls for school, Danni was still asleep—too bad, if she wants to be a superstar, she’ll have to develop a bit of stamina. I told Trish and Livvie to get her up, I heard the squeals and imprecations from the kitchen.

Amazingly, we were all ready for departure on time though Danni did her makeup in the car. For someone who’d only been doing it about a year, she was fast and competent. She kissed me on the cheek and then applied her lip gloss before leaving the car. “Sorry I was tired this morning, Mummy, I did appreciate you taking me yesterday.”

“Okay, off you go or you’ll be late for registration.”

She sniffed at me, “Chanel?”

“No 5,” I said.

“Thought so, byeee.”

“The financial meeting was for ten, which they switched, asking us to come to them for half past nine.”

I decided I wasn’t going to get upset by them today and I had my certificate of audit safely tucked away in my computer bag.

I rang Tom to inform him of the change of time and venue. “Och, they want tae fecht dirty, dae they? Alricht, twa can play at that game.”

We met outside the finance department and went in together, clutching our files. We were led into the manager’s office. They’d brought out the big guns and there was another man sitting at the table.

“This is Dave Fellman, from the auditor’s office.”

We exchanged nods. I looked around, they were all neatly dressed in their M&S suits and shirts, my handbag cost more than their outfits put together. I sent a silent thank you to Simon, this auditor chap was presumably here to frighten me with some alleged discrepancy. I would give him a chance to recant, if he didn’t a possible prosecution could occur. The courts don’t like bent auditors.

“We have found a discrepancy in your accounts, I’m afraid Professor Watts, I’ll let Dave explain it,” opened Tony Long, the finance department manager.

“Before he does, I should explain I’ve had the accounts independently audited and they found nothing out of order. I should therefore offer an opportunity to Mr Fellman to withdraw his allegation as I’m sure he’s well aware of the consequences of impropriety.”

“How dare you?” snapped Long.

“I’m just trying to prevent Mr Fellman from going up against my independent auditor in a court or tribunal,” I smiled sweetly, “I suspect he’s heard of Dr Stephen Campbell, who did the audit for us.”

Dave Fellman suddenly went an ashen colour, “I think I’d like to check the figures again, Professor, I did them in a bit of a hurry.” I smiled and he left the room like it was on fire.

“How the other half live, eh John,” Long said to one of the two trolls I had the scrap with earlier. “Not that it matters, the University Council yesterday instituted a two per cent cut across the board.”

My tummy flipped, “How could they? I’m a member of the council and no one informed me of a meeting.” My dander wasn’t just up it was out in space somewhere.

“I was told they tried to contact you but you were off-site.”

“Sorry, but I’m suspending this meeting.”

“You can’t, Professor, you can’t overrule the council.”

“Don’t bet on it—oh and be prepared for redundancies in this department.”

“You can’t threaten me, Lady stuck up Cameron, my mortgage isn’t with High St.”

“I’m not threatening anyone, I’m going back to my office to call the police I suspect financial impropriety or equivalent. Watch this space, but check your mortgage payment insurance—oh and if you touch my budget for any reason whatsoever until this is sorted, I’ll prosecute you for fraud or theft.” With that Tom and I stormed out of the room leaving them all gaping like goldfish.

Sometimes it pays to be a rich bitch!

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2561 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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“Daddy, I need a copy of the constitution and rules of the University Council.”

“Aye, when fa’ d’ye need it?”

“Now.”

“Aye, I’ll get Pippa straight on it.”

“I’m going to have to speak to the police at some point, there’s something not quite right going on here.”

He nodded but went off to his office as I went to mine. “Delia, I need everything we’ve got on the University Council, and who called the meeting yesterday, plus who attended.”

“What about your meetings and tutorials?”

“Cancel them, this is more important.”

“Shall I reschedule them?”

“Better not for the moment, I’m playing with fire here but trying to avoid a conflagration.”

“Very good, professor, tea or coffee?”

“Tea please.”

For the next two hours I tried to get hold of the University Constitution and more particularly that of the Council, its governing body. Delia did manage a copy of the minutes of a meeting which had taken place the day before. The full council had thirty members, only five attended the meeting, but without its rules or constitution especially what gave it a quorum, it wasn’t an awful lot of help.

In the end I phoned the university library, they had a copy. I told them it was imperative I saw a copy of it and for them to show it to no one else. The librarian was amused by this as she said no one had ever requested to see it before. I told her to keep it for me as the future of the university could depend upon it. She laughed thinking I was crazy, but agreed to it. I asked her to tell anyone else who came looking for it, to say it was out. She laughed again.

Although we’re on the same campus, the Guildhall one, the university has been looking to move us out to Langstone Campus, overlooking the harbour. Part of me would be happy to move, we’d be with Marine Biology department. However, they would want to merge the two and lose one of the chairs. It makes sense managerially, but that’s about it. I’m not sure I want to be under their prof anymore than they’d want to be under my department. We’d also have to give up one of our technicians, so I oppose it as did Tom before me. If we hadn’t got the mammal survey, we’d have been absorbed by Marine Biology. However, we did get the survey and that makes us bigger and currently more important. If we merged now, especially with High St supporting several projects, we’d absorb the marine department—love and hugs all round—I doubt it. Academics can sulk like no other group.

I scurried across the campus wishing I’d worn trousers and flat shoes instead of four inch heels and a tight skirt. They looked good, but would be no use on a bicycle. My shoes clattered on the marble tiled corridor and finally I was at the library.

I found Mitzi Goldman, the person I’d spoken to, who laughingly said, “You know, it’s a good job you reserved it because someone came and requested it just after you phoned.”

“Have you still got it?”

“Uh yes, it’s here somewhere,” she poked about under the desk, then amongst piles of books on a shelf behind her. “It’s got to be here, I put it here myself.” She searched for five minutes and it became obvious it wasn’t there. “Sorry about this, be right back.” She walked off to consult with her colleague, a moment later she returned looking flustered. “She said someone came saying they were collecting it for you, so she let them borrow it.”

“Is there another one?” I asked.

“I doubt it. There’d been no call for the other one until today.”

“Is there likely to be another copy anywhere?”

“Upstairs in Admin?”

I thanked her and went upstairs. They had one but someone appeared to have borrowed it. If synchronicity is meaningful coincidence, this could be it, or more likely as I suspected, a conspiracy. Quite what was going on I had no idea yet, but it looked as if some sort of illegality had or was occurring, and someone was trying to cover it up. Usually, it’s more incompetence than criminality, so what was going on?

I went back to my office, “The dean rang.”

“I’ll call him straight back,” I said as I almost dived into my office. Tom had a copy of the document, he’d send it over. I told him to hang on to it and I’d come and get it. As soon as I put down the phone I set off to get the precious document. Once it was safe in my hands, I shared my concerns with Daddy.

“Ye ken Gasgoine wisnae at yer meeting, he’s still off sick.”

“Oh well, it doesn’t necessarily eliminate him but it looks as if he’s not involved. Who chaired it?”

“The vice chairman.”

“Dr Long?”

“Aye.”

“Isn’t he related to Tony Long, our finance manager?”

“He is, he’s his dad.”

“Do we call the fraud squad?”

He shrugged, “It’s jest supposition at the minute, we need some sort of evidence before we involve thae polis.”

“By which time they’ll have disposed of the evidence.”

“Mebbe.”

“Oh c’mon, Daddy, if I did something like that I’d be destroying the evidence.”

“Mebbe.”

“I suspect someone is trying to stop us declaring the council meeting yesterday as inquorate. They had one of these in the library and I asked them to keep it for me. While I was walking to collect it someone got there first and took it.”

“It’s hardly bedtime readin’,” he offered.

I flicked through the council rules and my suspicion was right. They needed a chair, secretary and ten members to be quorate they were missing five or six members. I checked the rules, unless quorate, any rules passed by the council would be null and void.

I hoped I had them, now all I needed to do was find out who they were and why?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2562 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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Back in my office I asked Delia to call the other members of the council and find out if they could attend an emergency meeting. Of the twenty we contacted, fifteen could. I then got her to inform the others including our absent chairman, that I was instructing them that as per the constitution of the council, that a member with the support of half the council could call an extraordinary meeting. I was doing that and had reserved the board room for the meeting.

The chairman sent his apologies claiming he was too sick to attend. It seemed our conspirators also were unable to attend. That was okay, I asked Daddy to sit in as observer, which he agreed, and I asked Delia to take notes of the meeting. To my surprise she told me that she, with Pippa’s help had managed to get hold of a copy of the agenda and minutes of the ‘inquorate’ meeting. Things were looking up.

I phoned the dodgy donor. “Who is it?” he asked

“Catherine Cameron.”

“Who?”

“Lady Catherine Cameron.”

“Do I know you?”

“You do by my maiden name.”

“Why the subterfuge?”

“Because I wasn’t sure you’d speak to me.”

“Who are you then?”

“Professor Cathy...”

“...Watts,” he completed for me. “You’re right, I might not have spoken to you, but I feel I allowed myself to be duped. I’m ashamed of it so I’ll be resigning from the council, which you’ll doubtless be pleased to hear.”

“Professor Wilkins, although I appreciate your assistance in loaning us your agenda and minutes, I’d be extremely grateful if you could come this evening.”

“You’ve got the minutes, why d’you need me?”

“You were there, minutes don’t show the mood of the meeting nor the unreported asides or discussions. You could tell us what really went on and I really would be grateful if you could come. I won’t let the meeting descend into anarchy nor a lynch mob and in showing the courage to face the other members, I would suggest is a redemptive step.”

“I don’t know, it’s so embarrassing.”

Try telling your dad you’re living as a woman—now that’s embarrassing, however, I wanted our defector to come.

“Look, I’m running this meeting, Tom Agnew is coming as an observer to make sure we stay within the constitution, and my secretary is going to make notes, so we have a clear report of the proceedings.”

“I really don’t know, Professor Watts.”

“Look, come to my office a few minutes before and I’ll walk over with you.”

“All right, I’ll come to your office.”

“Thank you.

“I hope I’m not going to regret it.”

“I think this is probably one of the noblest things you could do.”

“And being a noblewoman you’d know?”

“No, being a wife and mother, who I hope tries to have some integrity to share with my family, I know it takes a far bigger man to come and apologise for a mistake, especially in front of several people, than it does to lie to yourself and pretend you didn’t make one.”

“You’ve made your point, Lady Cameron, I’m afraid I draw the line at sack cloth and ashes.”

“I think we can forget the mediaeval symbolism, don’t you?”

“What time?”

“The meeting starts at seven, so fifteen minutes before?”

“Six forty five it is.”

I called Jason, astonishingly he was there and I explained things as best I could. He asked the same question I’d been asking myself. “This is a university not the backroom of a pub, how could they be so inept, or were you meant to see this bit not the thing that’s really happening? What’s the main event?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering. Is it financial or is there some other scam going on?”

“Hasn’t it go to be financial ultimately?”

“Ultimately, yes; what have you got that could be sold off—land, bequests, buildings, copyrights, patents.”

“You think this could be a deliberate distraction?”

“If it isn’t and the conspirators are all academics, it doesn’t say a lot for the value of your degrees, Cathy.”

“I worked bloody hard for my degrees,” I felt myself fill with indignation.

“Not you personally, I meant what some departments are churning out.”

“The biology degrees are perfectly valid.”

“I’m sure under your tutelage they are, look get someone to do an audit and quickly. If necessary give me a shout and we’ll obtain a court order to do so.”

“Won’t it be too late by then?”

“Possibly, but it’s the only option left open to you, so do it quickly.”

“Do I have authority to do that?”

“Probably not, but do it anyway.”

“So I did, through Simon I got Steve Campbell, yeah, the, Steve Campbell to come with his team and see what they could find.” Astonishingly, Tom told Gasgoine what we were doing and he gave his blessing. I’d still have enjoyed finding he was the big cheese behind it all, but so far it seemed that was more prejudice than evidence.

Campbell’s team were in place and working by mid afternoon, Gasgoine having asked the university admin people to give them every assistance. Daddy was as surprised as anyone that Gasgoine was supporting us. “Whit’s sae wrang wi’ him that he canna come tae thae university?”

“He’s got lung cancer, he’s dying,” I said plucking this snippet from the fresh air.

Tom shook his head, “Are ye sure aboot that?”

“About what?”

“Whit ye just said.”

“What did I say?” Thankfully we didn’t end up with a discussion on short term memory loss. When I make these pronouncements, I often have no recollection of what I said.

He told me. I wondered if I could help him, the vice chancellor, that is. Seemed my transport questions were about the only ones no one was asking. So, either I was a genius or more likely jumped a few stations too early only to find it was a viaduct not a platform.

Delia asked about the children and I glanced at my watch and realising the time dashed off to collect four indignant children. Even Meems was carping, something she doesn’t normally do. I hoped she wasn’t sickening for something.

I dropped them off at home had a snack—mackerel in tomato sauce on toast. I was going to change from my suit to something more casual but Stella persuaded me not to. “Cathy, for once you’re doing what you were born to do.”

“Eat mackerel?”

“Doh!” she exclaimed rolling her eyes. “Leading people, you’re a natural, so why not look the part?”

“These shoes are so uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure Elizabeth I didn’t witter on about her feet hurting while she was waiting for the Armada to land.”

“I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too.” I trotted out, remembered from some distant history lesson.

Stella just stared at me. “You are amazing, girl; d’you know that?”

“Nah, it was just as a girl all the main characters in history were men, except people like Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Catherine the great of Russia and Elizabeth I.”

“Shouldn’t you include her cousin in that—Mary Queen of Scots?”

“What some French chick who caused ructions to Elizabeth?”

“French?”

“Yes, French. She was raised there and spoke French as her first language.”

“How d’you know that?”

“Like I said. I enjoyed my history, especially when there was a strong woman involved. Mary may have been a strong woman, Elizabeth was like Wonder Woman by comparison.”

“Aye, but she wis succeeded by a Scot, James VI, wee Mary’s revenge.”

“The wisest fool in Christendom.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2563 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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I doffed my shoes for a time and Stella massaged my feet still clad in tights. It was bliss and enabled me to eventually replace my feet in my shoes and walk in moderate comfort. Anyone who says high heels are comfortable is either lying or deluded, but they did make my legs look good in the Versace suit.

Clutching my copy of the council rules and constitution I drove back to the university where I met up with Daddy and eventually Professor Wilkins. He was early and between the three of us we briefly discussed a council of war.

His recollection of the earlier meeting had been to establish the cuts across the board to meet the budget requirements. There had also been a feeling throughout that Biological Sciences were getting to big for their boots and that their professor, viz moi, seemed intent on taking over the council.

He blushed when he realised who I was and admitted the idea was ludicrous. I asked if it was as I seemed to be making a play to control the council. He said that in the circumstances someone with integrity needed to take control because it seemed to be heading for some sharp rocks.

I liked his metaphor and I decided I would take control and steer this ship into deeper and calmer waters before I handed over to someone else. While imagining myself captain of this troubled vessel I asked him if anything else had happened at the meeting that wasn’t minuted.

“We have some land which is a brown field site and so polluted, it isn’t worth much. So we agreed to sell it for a hundred thousand pounds.”

“Where is this site?”

“Somewhere near Cosham I think. We all signed a release for Dr Long to sell the land.”

“For a hundred thousand?”

“Yes, seems like we got a good sum for it.”

I called Steve Campbell and told him of the land deal. He promised to get straight on it. I also told him that the only land up that way that I could recall was an old bakery and distribution centre and that site had to be five or ten acres. As the area around it was being used for housing, that land could be worth millions. Had we found our prime cause?

It still seemed too easy. Dr Long was a clever chap, a psychologist I believed, so he’d be unlikely to be involved in anything that would be traceable to him. Until now I’d considered him to be a reasonable academic who as far as I knew was as honest as anyone else. However, unless I’m mistaken, I appear to have got things wrong.

We walked down the corridor and across the square to the administration block and library, where the boardroom was. The other members were arriving as we did. Delia came rushing in and sat down ready to take notes for minutes to be made.

I informed them that the council meeting of the night before had been inquorate and that according to my calculations we had seventeen members present, if we elected a secretary and chair, we’d be quorate and thus legal. As I’d been the driving force for the meeting, I was elected chair for the meeting and Delia was elected a temporary member and co-opted as secretary. I was quite happy with the arrangement and it appeared so was Delia.

I explained that we had a very simple agenda, to nullify anything and everything the earlier meeting had passed and to prevent any decisions about budgets until the audit was finished. That was passed unanimously.

The second was to discuss the possible sale of land belonging to the university, and which might have been sold for a song rather than its true value. If this had happened it became a criminal matter and the police would become involved. They all agreed that if this was the case they would support the idea of prosecution of all concerned.

Geoff Musgrove from IT called up some high resolution maps on his laptop and found the piece of land involved. I was easily seven acres and could be sold off as building plots once planning was granted and easily make five or ten million before a house was built.

We then discussed what it was all about. It seemed ludicrous that seemingly clever people had dug a pit for themselves without realising it. To me it seemed too easy and the others understood what I meant but they assumed the scent of easy money had blinded them to the dangers.

We issued a condemnation and a withdrawal from the sale if at all possible until it had all been assessed and valued properly. Steve had agreed to find the purchaser and to try and nullify any sale. He told me to expect a legal battle if the sale had gone through. I offered my full support.

Daddy and I returned home exhausted but pleased we’d managed to restore a degree of order. I still wasn’t sure what the other group had been about, to start with a hundred thousand isn’t that much money, so why risk a prison sentence for it? Something was niggling at me but I couldn’t quite work out what it was.

Simon stayed in town overnight which was just as well because I went out like a light once my head touched the pillow. I had one or two uncomfortable dreams which I couldn’t remember but I woke the next morning missing my man and feeling I had loads to do, including probably talking with the police. After showering, I dressed in another expensive suit, this one a Chanel number but before Lagerfeld took over. As it was cold I wore some black knee boots with a three inch heel. At least I could walk reasonably comfortably in them not knowing how much I would have to do today.

I dropped the girls off and once in my office I met with Steve Campbell who told me he had informed the police but was still awaiting the land registry to give him the names of the purchaser of the land. The police were coming to speak with us about ten. I thanked him and actually did some work for my department when at ten, on the dot, Steve returned with a couple of detectives, a DCI and a DS. Delia provided us with coffee and we settled down for the meeting.

I showed him the minutes of the meeting we’d held to the police and they asked to keep a copy, which I agreed. I then asked if they’d found out who was buying the land.

“Yes, we have,” replied the DCI, “They paid one hundred thousand and have a buyer prepared to pay over two million for it.”

“Wow, that’s quite a profit, pity the university wasn’t the recipient.”

“Are you certain about that?” asked the senior plod.

“Of course, is there any way we can nullify the sale?”

“Why?” asked the copper, Steve was staying strangely silent.

“Because it’s immoral if not illegal.”

“What if it’s legal?” challenged the copper.

“We should try and get them to change their minds,” I suggested.

“How would you do that?” asked the DCI.

“I’ll go and see them and explain what happened.”

“Going to talk to yourself are you?” asked the policeman.

“What d’you mean?”

“The purchaser was Dormouse Developments.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’re named as a managing director, and you sold on the land to your husband’s bank for a large profit. Lady Cameron, I’m arresting you on suspicion of fraud, you don’t have to say anything...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2564 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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I went with the two policemen to the central police station in Portsmouth. As I was escorted into an interview room, the station sergeant on the desk said to one of the detectives, “You know who that is don’t you?”

“Yeah, a bent professor.”

“That’s the pension killer.”

“Oh is it now, well she’s toast.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

The door closed and I was asked to surrender my handbag. Daddy, I hoped had called Simon and he in turn I hoped would call Jason. I knew I had been set up, surely even a traffic warden could see that, let alone two experienced detectives.

I told them I was innocent and had in fact called them in, would I do that if I was guilty? The DCI’s response, “Some people think they’re above the law or believe they’re too clever to be caught. Just admit it, Lady Cameron, it’s a fair cop.”

“While I’m in here, the guilty party is getting away.”

“That’s what they all say, we only stick the innocent in prison if you listen to them.”

“I’m not saying anything more until my counsel arrives.”

“That’s your right, but why not just plead guilty and save us all time and money.”

“The only thing I’m admitting is that I didn’t see this set up coming.”

“Oh set up was it, made you two million, some set up.”

There was a knock on the door and moments later Kit Mitten arrived. I was allowed half an hour to brief him before they brought in the sandbags and thumbscrews. He made a couple of phone calls, including one to Simon. Then announced we were ready to ask for bail.

“What?”

“Are you charging Lady Cameron?”

“Not yet, I can hold her for a couple of days without charge.”

“If you do, I’ll be back here with a court order for her release.”

“Oh threats is it?” challenged the DCI.

“Chief Inspector, I’m trying to save you a large amount of face. In about an hour I will have the evidence required to prove that she is not in any way associated with this fictional company, and that if the bank bought this land, it was unaware of the circumstances. It would certainly not have purchased land from one of its own directors and if you suggest Lord Cameron bought it from his own wife without being aware if she were the owner, I suspect I’d have to think you rather less intelligent than your rank usually requires.”

“Yeah, so ’er ’usband was in on it too, ’ardly rocket science is it?”

“I think my suspicions are beginning to coalesce.”

“Yeah, well so are mine—you just play for time while they invent new evidence to escape justice.”

“I can assure you that Lady Cameron is of the highest integrity.”

“That’s what they always say. Don’t Dormouse Developments say it all, she’s even got one on her jacket.”

Kit looked at my Chanel jacket, I was besporting my gold and diamond brooch, the one Simon had made for me. I was impressed he recognised it, most people have no idea. I wonder if he saw my film?

The police insisted on questioning me and I agreed to answer their questions with Kit monitoring very closely what was said. I explained once again what was happening at the university and how I’d tried to stop what was against the rules and constitution of the council. I suspected that something was going on in the background but didn’t know what, hence the audit. That showed up the land deal which I reported to the council and asked the auditors to inform the police. I was then arrested.

It came as no surprise that an enquiry to Companies House in Cardiff and the financial authorities had no record of Dormouse Developments. Furthermore, High St bank had no record of the transaction. They hadn’t bought anything in Hampshire this year.

However, the police thought that the Land Registry did have a record. When this was examined, it was found to have been hacked and a fake record inserted. It seemed the case was falling apart and in a further half an hour I was being escorted home by Kit. Tom drove my car home and then went back to collect his own.

I was glad to see Simon and Sammi who came home early. Apparently, she didn’t consider the hacking job that difficult and there would be dozens of geeks who could do it. We talked after dinner wondering what was going to happen next. To me it felt like an onion, someone who was obviously quite clever was playing a game of multi-dimensional chess but only referring the moves when they wanted to. All we could was react.

My prejudice wanted the mastermind to be Gasgoine but he was genuinely very ill. I decided I would go and see him the next day and see if I could help. It didn’t feel as if the blue energy was that interested yet he was purportedly in a hospice. That sort of situation would tend to suggest he was very poorly. I sent him absent healing but wasn’t sure how much help it would be.

Something was going on below our noses and these distractions were preventing us seeing them. Depending upon how well our Vice Chancellor was would determine how much help he could be in discovering the actual problem. No one had seen any sign of the Longs for a day. They seemed to have gone away or simply vanished, and even the police had no idea where they were. The bank had paid out one hundred thousand pounds of my money for some land which wasn’t for sale. They realised it was a scam but were too late to stop the cash disappearing abroad. My account was reimbursed so I wasn’t the loser, but I couldn’t see how such a small amount of money would be worth such risks. Then we discovered, the bank had also paid two million for the same property. It wasn’t Simon’s department so he was in the clear, but even that wasn’t very much to risk prosecution and a jail sentence not for people with good jobs as the Longs had.

We were missing something fundamental. I dropped the girls off at school and went off to St Margaret’s Hospice and taking some fruit, I asked to see our ailing vice chancellor. They made me wait while they decided if he was well enough and he apparently insisted he saw me.

I knew they wouldn’t let me stay for long. I shook hands and his energies felt very dark—it didn’t feel very good at all. Instead of asking him questions I sat there and poured the blue stuff into him. I left exhausted but considered he’d feel better tomorrow. I hoped I would too.

I had calls from the other council members but none of us had a clue what was going on. Simon told me to get Jim on the case. Once he offered to pay, I made the call and our favourite investigator was off his bum and on the case. He promised to come down the next day to see me. Meanwhile, Sammi, came down with a beaming smile on her lovely face.

“I know who hacked the Land Registry,” she said.