The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2601 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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The hum of the air-conditioning meant that our approach was unheard, if anyone was actually in the plant room. The door was a metal one and opened outwards. Sammi was despatched to find the building’s caretaker to get us a key to open the room. We all withdrew while keeping the plant room under observation.

“We don’t actually know what or who is in there, do we?” I asked no one in particular.

“No, nor if they’re armed,” Allie’s job was basically about evaluating risk and reducing it to acceptable proportions.

“Simon is here, I can almost taste him he’s so close.”

“And you think he’s still alive?” asked my bodyguard.

“I know he’s alive.”

“Shouldn’t we get the police to check this?”

“If you don’t want to see your son alive again.”

“I thought they were experts in this sort of thing.”

“Viscount Stanebury, the police have to work to protocols.”

“Isn’t there a reason for that?”

“Yes, but in these cases time is of the essence.”

“I appreciate that, but if there’s some sort of shootout, Simon could get hit by stray bullets.”

“If I fire my gun each shot will make its mark.”

I wished I’d had her confidence, even with a Kalashnikov, I couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a shovel. It’s a very useful weapon with great reliability according to the records I’d seen of it. It was also cheap to manufacture which explained why every lunatic in Afghanistan and Pakistan had at least one of them.

I watched Alison check her gun, an automatic of some sort; at least I assumed it was seeing as it didn’t have any rotating chambers like a revolver. She placed it back in the holster at the back of her jacket. I was glad I’d dressed for comfort, in jeans and trainers—it would make running away more efficient.

The caretaker appeared and handed Henry a bunch of keys, he didn’t know which one opened the A/C plant room, he never went in there as a firm of service engineers did all the maintenance as far as he knew. We thanked him and he left.

Allie and I went back to the door and I read out the number of the door lock while she looked through the keys for on the enormous ring the caretaker had provided. I asked Sammi to find out if the service engineers were here yesterday. She dashed off to check on it. I felt happier that she was out of the line of fire if anything happened.

Allie found the key to open the door—we hoped. If there was a lock on the inside and the key was in it, that presented certain complications. Unfortunately, none of us knew the answer to it except in an empirical manner. Standing away from the door, so working at arm’s length, Allie began to try to slip the key into the lock. My hands were shaking just watching her; hers stayed steady as a rock. The key slotted in and she gently unlocked it. Given the noise from the A/C unit it was unlikely anyone would have heard it.

While waiting for the keys we agreed a plan. I would open the door and pull it towards me leaving the doorway clear. The door would theoretically protect me and give Allie an opportunity for a free shot at anyone inside.

We performed the plan; so despite the coolness of the wind on the rooftop my hans were sweating and I wiped them in my jeans before grabbing the handle and on a count of three yanked the door wide open. Allie dropped and covered the room, nothing happened.

We inspected it there was nothing, but the items of clothing tended to show it had recently been occupied and not by service engineers. We came out with a sense of relief and for me disappointment. I was so sure he was there. In fact I felt sure he was still there, but the room was empty.

I switched on the light and while the machinery made so much noise it was difficult to think. I tried calling his name, but I couldn’t hear myself, so how would anyone else. I was sure he was there somewhere so I did the only thing I could do to verify it, switched off the machine. For a moment it felt like I’d gone deaf. I called Simon’s name as loudly as I could—nothing happened. I called again and again. Nothing. Tears of disappointment and frustration combined with anxiety for him began to trickle down my face. I wiped them away with rather grubby fingers. I probably looked a total mess but didn’t care.

I was about to leave, Allie came into the room when I heard a faint bump. She was about to switch the machine back on when I called her to stop. I ran around the place banging on the walls, eventually I got a response. Simon had effectively been walled up. They were going to let him die up there. I felt so angry if I saw the woman hired to kill me, if she missed with her first shot, I’d guarantee she wouldn’t get a second before I did her serious damage of a permanent nature.

Basically, he’d been trussed up and left sitting in a small alcove that used to accommodate an earlier and larger plant. They’d blindfolded him and placed ear defenders on him then walled him up with a piece of plywood which they’d painted after screwing it in place.

He’d worked out what they were planning to do, reveal his whereabouts to Henry, only if he gave them a large share base to enable them to perform all sorts of nefarious activities and escape with the profits while High Street and the backing bank was left in the lurch.

The bank had apparently offered a reward, a ransom fit for a king but the unscrupulous villains declined saying we couldn’t get the money quickly enough to save him.

One of the advantages of marrying into a bank was seeing the look of bewilderment on Simon’s face when I produced not only the money but deduced where he was. With the blindfold and being trussed up, he hadn’t heard me and was trying to estimate how long he’d been held while bumping his elbows on the floor of his prison. Somehow I’d heard it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2602 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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We let Simon grab a shower and change grab a drink and bite to eat before the police were called. One of them had the temerity to suggest it was all a publicity stunt for the bank. I had to work really hard to stop Simon planting him. Simon was really angry and it took several minutes to calm him down. The offending officer was told to leave by the Special Branch Chief Super who was leading the case.

“How did you find him?” asked the Chief Superintendant.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“We know all about your special powers—or shall we say the miraculous things that happen when you seem to be around. So I’d be grateful if you’d tell me if we keep it off the record.”

“If that’s a promise—then I’ll try and explain what I know about what happens. With those people I have a special relationship, mainly family but occasionally close friends, I seem to be able to track them. It’s like they have transponders inside them and I just follow the signal. I also know things, like I knew Simon was still alive and close geographically. All I had to do then was find him.”

“I thought the police were supposed to have searched the building?”

“That’s what we were told. Seems they didn’t do it very thoroughly.”

“I’ll be raising that very point a little later with an Assistant Commissioner.”

“Thank you. I don’t want to alienate the police because they have helped us several times when we were in trouble.”

“I believe they’ve also been less than helpful at times.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“It’s all been recorded, including the amounts charities have benefitted from the out of court settlements, I believe as well you’ve destroyed a few pensions and careers.”

“I never start the trouble just respond in an appropriate manner.”

“Like getting them suspended?”

“I’d only plead guilty to that if the suspension involved some form of rope.”

“I had you down as anti capital punishment.”

“I am—it’s judicial murder.”

He simply shrugged. “I lost two colleagues to deliberate shootings. Their widows and children will still miss them after the bastards who did it get out. They should rot in prison.”

“Some would argue that’s more cruel than executing them.”

“So—if they kill a cop...”

“I can’t understand why anyone needs to kill anyone under normal life circumstances.”

“Even self defence?”

“You heard about it that?”

“I know all about you, Lady Cameron.”

“They were going to kill my children, my adoptive father and me.”

“I believe a couple of police officers as well.”

“They’d already killed a couple of police in abducting us.”

“I know, but it probably takes more bottle than I’ve got to beat someone to a pulp while they slept.”

“I’m not proud of my actions, but I was under threat at the time.”

“I know—I wasn’t passing judgement, just acknowledging your resourcefulness.”

“It doesn’t sound that way to me.”

“Guilty conscience perhaps?”

“Have you killed anyone, Chief Superintendant?”

“Yes—he had a gun, I had a gun—I was quicker on the draw.”

“Are you proud of it?”

“Not for taking a life, no. In ridding the world of a dangerous scumbag—yes, he had it coming.” He paused as if reliving the experience. “Let’s go and talk with your husband, shall we?”

Simon explained how he’d been ambushed by two people wearing the uniforms of the air-conditioning service company. They’d waved guns under his nose and then given him some sort of injection which turned him into an automaton. He did exactly as they told him unable to resist the powerful drug.

They had simply walked him out to the roof and tied and gagged him, hiding him in the air-conditioning plant room. He’d been aware of everything that was happening including wondering if he was going to die. Several times he thought he was going to.

“And you just sensed he was still in the building?” the senior copper asked me.

“That’s about it,” I confirmed.

“But that is so boring.”

“Life is I’m afraid.”

“Oh well, back to playing rat-catcher.”

“I suspect you keep quite busy.”

“Me cop, you—possible suspect. Don’t leave town, will you?”

“Not if you ask me not to.”

“Are you always so compliant.”

“But of course,” smiled a sweet but totally inappropriate smile. He shook his head and left taking his minions with him.

Simon was shaken but otherwise well according to the police surgeon who examined him after we found him. He was a big tall chap who spent most of his life trying to kill himself by doing dangerous sports such as skydiving and ski jumping. I considered cycling was dangerous enough for me—it put me in this position after all. If it hadn’t I had visions of myself still sitting in my bedsit waiting for the time to pass until it felt the optimum to transition. I probably never would have done and certainly would never have had a relationship with a man, let alone married one and adopted so many waifs and strays, my house was like a children’s home.

I thought about my previous times compared with what was now—it didn’t compare.
Not bad for someone who obviously failed the test for manhood but seemed to pass the one for womanhood. Quite how completely I was never quite able to explain but I had few regrets and loads of plus points to celebrate.

As soon as we were able I rushed Simon to my car and set off for darkest Portsmouth—actually due to an absence of sunlight—the whole country was experiencing a dark period—called nightfall.

Arriving at the gates of the drive, they were open. They should have been locked not wide open. If the children had been harmed in anyway, I would exact a terrible revenge. I might not be into judicial murder but this sort of crime, abducting children was beyond the pale.

We parked the car and set off to investigate, it looked as if no one was at home. Oh shit.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2603 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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Moments later Allie arrived in Simon’s car. Simon was standing there semi-zombified as if the drug they’d given him was continuing to act. I’d never seen him like this before—completely vulnerable. I led him back to my car and locked him in.

“Aren’t you going to close the gates?” asked Allie.

“No, there’s something not right here.”

“The gates were open.”

“Perhaps someone forgot to close them.”

“Where are Chas and Dave—they’re supposed to be guarding us.”

“How d’you know they aren’t watching us now?”

“I don’t. Wait with Simon while I check out the house.”

“Isn’t that my job?” Allie drew the gun from behind her.

“No lights on in the house you mean?”

“I don’t think so. I know the house better than you. If I’m not back in five minutes take Simon somewhere safe.” I handed her the car keys.

“What if it’s a trap?”

“I’ll get caught won’t I?”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Yes, but I need to check my children.”

“Let’s call the police, get some reinforcements.”

“I can’t wait that long.” I left her standing with a gun in one hand and a mobile in the other. I watched her move into the shadows. Walking this close to the house should have set off security lights and CCTV. It looked like the power was off, the street lights in the near distance tended to suggest it must be very localised as they were casting their yellow glow at the end of the drive.

I felt for the lock and pushed home my key. I then took my little torch from my bag and got ready to shine in the eyes of any attacker. It was only small but had seven LEDs in it so it was pretty bright and hopefully would dazzle anyone inside in the dark.

I flung open the door and stood away from it. Nothing. I walked in and the place was quiet except for something soft and furry rubbing itself against my legs, obviously wanting her meal.

Five minutes later I had checked out the house—there was no one here at all. I called Allie who brought Simon with her. She had her own torch and shining it round the kitchen found the note attached to the door of the fridge by a magnet in the shape of a dormouse.

“Seen this?” she handed me the note.

‘Cathy,
Something went bang with a big blue flash and the electric went off. We’ve all gone to the hotel. Stella.x’

I pulled out my phone and dialled Stella, she answered a few rings later. She informed me that she packed some stuff for me and Simon—Sammi had told her that I’d found him. She called an electrician but he couldn’t come until tomorrow. I told her I’d be over as soon as I’d fed Bramble. Apparently, she’d shot off when the electrics went bang—she’d been sitting quite close to it and fled like she was attached to a rocket.

After feeding the cat, we left for the hotel in my car, leaving Simon’s car in the drive. As the fault had occurred inside the house there was no point in me looking for the generator as it wouldn’t help. I ‘d grabbed my laptop and it’s power unit, shoved them in my laptop case and locked the house up, hopefully with the kitten on the inside.

At the hotel Simon said he was tired so I took him to bed. The girls were very restrained and sensed he wasn’t well, so instead of their ebullient over the top welcome, they just said hello to him. He acknowledged them but asked to go to bed, hence my helping him to undress and get under the bed clothes.

“Are you going to be all right?” I asked feeling quite concerned.

“Yeah, just tired.”

I told him I needed to eat but I think he was asleep, so I stole out of the room and into the sitting room. Everyone else had eaten—it was eight o’clock, so Allie and I went off to the restaurant by ourselves. I wasn’t that hungry until I smelt the aroma of food—that did it. I ended up ordering a steak with salad and new potatoes, while Allie ordered salmon.

We chatted until the food arrived, she told me about going to Cambridge—she was a very good student in school and was doing languages when she got attacked by the three men. I told her if it was too painful she didn’t have to tell me about it.

“I’m fine about it now, but it took me three long years to deal with it helped by a therapist.”

“I’m not surprised, I can’t imagine what it must be like. Were they caught?”

“Not enough evidence according to the police.”

“Not even medical—um—evidence?”

“I had samples taken for DNA analyses, but the police told me it was too contaminated by my blood.” I winced. “I found out later that one of the men who did it was related to the guy supposedly leading the investigation.”

“How did that happen?”

“What the bent copper or me finding out?”

“No, a man leading the investigation—I thought they had women officers for rape cases.”

“It was a few years ago and they didn’t then. So it went unpunished until I saw the three of them laughing and joking outside a pub. I followed them surreptitiously and discovered where they lived. This was nearly three years after the rape. I made sure none of them would do it to another woman—in fact they’d have to sit to pee.”

I didn’t ask for details feeling she might have said too much already. It also reminded me of Danielle’s and Trish’s ordeals. Not something I’d care to revisit. We had coffees after the meal and returned to our suite.

“I’m sure nothing is going to happen here, so why don’t knock off for the night? We’ll go down for breakfast about seven.”

“Please don’t go outside this room without telling me, will you?”

“What just me?”

“No Lady Cameron, any of you. You’re all at risk.”

Going to bed after putting the girls to theirs and reading them a story I saw that Simon seemed very agitated. He appeared to be sleeping but he was rolling and twitching in the bed and calling out every so often. I discussed it with Stella and she agreed we needed some advice. I sent for the hotel doctor.

I expect this happens in other places as well but in the UK if you are taken ill in a hotel, they usually have a number for a doctor who will visit if it’s urgent enough. Stella spoke to the quack and he agreed to come over.

Twenty minutes later he arrived and examining Simon asked what had happened. I told him as best I could but had no idea what the drug was they’d injected into him. Simon was still thrashing about the bed but couldn’t seem to wake up even when we shook him.

“I’ll give him a sedative which should knock him out for about six or eight hours—you’ll at least get some sleep that way, but he needs some tests doing and possibly needs some psychotherapy to deal with his abduction.”

He gave Simon a jab which a few minutes later seemed to quieten him down. I thanked the doctor and he told us if it worsened to call an ambulance and take him to hospital—they might be able to determine the drug and neutralise it.

I got into bed alongside him and at one point wondered if Simon had died his breathing was so slow. I lay beside him telling him I’d get him better as soon as I could. I think I saw him smile briefly at that. I lay there for a couple of hours before I could drop off. I hoped I could find out who did this to Simon and why, what happened after that I wouldn’t be able to predict—but it could get messy,

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2604 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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The next morning, I awoke feeling exhausted. Simon was still asleep so I went and made myself some tea. Julie and Danni came to see how things were and helped themselves to a cuppa. Basically, I didn’t know how things were. No one seemed to know what drug Simon had been given and it didn’t look as if anyone cared that much. I finished my tea and went to check on Si.

He woke when I stroked his cheek. “Hiya,” he said, “I love you.” He closed his eyes and stopped breathing. For two or three seconds I was stunned, then I screamed. Julie was first in.

“What’s happened?”

“He’s dead.”

“Call an ambulance,” she shouted and I heard someone rushing from the room. Moments later Stella arrived, Julie took me away while Stella did her nurse bit.

“Get him on the floor,” she yelled and we all helped to do so. “You,” stop crying and start your magic—NOW—Cathy.”

The shock lifted for a moment and I began to draw down the energy. Stella was pounding on his chest doing CPR. I put my hands on his chest just below his shoulders and the blue light blasted into him making Stell recoil. “Jesus, that was like a defibrillator. Warn me next time.”

She checked for pulse, there wasn’t one. I heard sirens down below. I hit him again with the energy, this time directly over his heart. This time his eyes moved, Stella checked we had a pulse, it was weak but he was breathing. His colour wasn’t very good but the blueness around his lips was slightly better. I was aware the paramedics had arrived and while one of them put an ECG on him the other asked for a history. I explained about his kidnap and that he’d been given some sort of drug but no one seemed to know what it was. They decided he was stabilised enough to be taken to hospital and with me dressing rapidly, we went off in the ambulance to A&E at the QA.

“What are you doing here?” asked a familiar voice. It was Ken Nicholls and I spoke to him while some of the physicians did tests on my darling husband.

“He actually arrested?”

“Yeah, Stella started doing CPR, I was doing my impression of the Wailing Wall. She told me to do something and I came out of my stupor and thankfully the blue stuff started him again.

“Usually when you do that, five minutes later they pick up their bed and walk.”

“Not if they actually died they don’t.”

“A mere technicality. Why are we treating him when you could sort him quicker yourself?”

“I don’t think I could. The energy allowed me to keep him alive, there must be a reason why he needs to see conventional doctors.”

“He had some sort of sedative last night?”

“Yeah, but that was hours ago—it couldn’t have caused it, the arrest, I mean?”

“I’m not a pharmacologist, Cathy, but I suspect we’ll be talking to one before too long. I’ll find someone to get you a cuppa.” He wandered off and ten minutes later a young woman arrived with a tray of tea and some custard creams. I’d had no breakfast so they were very welcome.

An hour later he was sent up to the cardiology ward and I was allowed to see him for a few minutes. At this point Julie arrived with a travel bag that she and Stella had packed for him for the hotel—spare pyjamas, toiletries and his toothbrush. He woke enough to smile at Julie and then me before he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

The cardiologist, Dr Johnson--not that one he was a lexicographer—took us into the office on the ward. “You said he had some sort of drug administered by whoever abducted him and an emergency doctor administered a sedative last night?”

“You don’t have the syringe, do you?”

“No, he shoved into his own sharps box. Is there something wrong?” He grimaced momentarily. “There is isn’t there?”

“I think the cause of his problem was the injection last night. I’m waiting for the blood tests to come back but I suspect he was given some sort of slow acting poison.”

“By a doctor?” I gasped, “Deliberately?” my tummy churned and I felt sick.

“Did you know him?”

“No, the hotel organised it.”

“You didn’t hear that a doctor and his driver were found trussed up in the boot of their car earlier this morning?”

“No, I was a bit preoccupied...”

“Of course. The man who attended you was an assassin. How your husband is still alive completely baffles me. Half his heart is damaged yet it’s still pumping enough blood to keep his brain and kidneys going—amazing. Usually, by this stage we’ve got them piped into everything—amazing.”

“We Scots are a hardy lot, ye know,” I said with a hint of an accent.

“You must be. He’s still quite poorly but stable, so there’s nothing you can do here. If there’s any change we’ll let you know. Go home Mrs Cameron and get some rest, he’s going to need you later on.”

“That doctor was a murderer, the one who came to the hotel?”

“Seems like it.”

“The bastards—how did they know we’d send for one?”

“They must have hacked into the emergency doctor system, phones or computer possibly both.”

Why didn’t he just give him cyanide or something like that?”

“It would have alerted us to what was going on and he might have been caught. No these people are too sophisticated for that sort of stuff.”

“Shit, that is scary—we could be killed at any time?”

“Julie, you know what’s happening so I can’t lie to you, yes, we’re at risk all the time until this is over.”

“How will we know it’s over—apart from waking up dead, that is?”

“I don’t know, I presume if they manage to kill Henry or Simon they’ll put the bank in such disarray they might sell out.”

“Never.”

“What?” I was bemused by her defiance.

“Our bank is two hundred years old so some bloody Cossack tossers aren’t going to bring it down.”

“If Henry or Si are killed, who’s going to run it?”

“You will, you’re a director and a Cameron—you’ll do it.”

“Don’t be silly, darling, I’m a teacher not a banker.”

“Okay, okay—look I’ll give you hand on Sundays, all right?”

At that I laughed until my sides hurt and hoped Julie meant it as a joke.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2605 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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Back at the hotel I called James, “Just where have you been—Simon’s very poorly because someone tried to kill him.”

“I’ve been working with Special Branch and MI5 to find out the source of the problem because if we don’t, we’ll have a hydra on our hands if you know what I mean?”

“I’m a biologist, James, I know a bit about Cnidaria.”

“About what?”

“Simple fresh water animals, the Cnidaria.”

“Right, I thought they were some sort of multi-headed thing from Greek mythology, you know, cut off one head end up with several more.”

“So just become Herakles.”

“Oh okay, didn’t realise it was so simple. I’ll pop down the costume shop and see if they can oblige.”

“You’ll need a lion skin and a large club.”

“What like Stringfellow’s?”

“No, you idiot, a large wooden thing for bashing hydras on the head.”

“Oh that sort of club, you had me worried for a moment.”

“Very funny. So what about this source?”

“We think it’s a character called Oleg Grigovski, a onetime hoodlum and now multi-millionaire and oligarch.”

“And?”

“We’re going to ask him to stop annoying us and to find another bank to play with.”

“How likely is that to work?”

“It is a long shot rising to about zero per cent.”

“If anything happens to Simon or my children, he will become the late and very dead Mr Grigovski.”

“I won’t tell him in case he does something to show how serious you are.”

“How about you send him a Bolognese sauce made from one of his minions?”

“That might be a trifle illegal, Cathy.”

“An illegal trifle—what’s the matter with these people, making trifles illegal?”

“Oh boy,” he sighed down the phone. I told him about Simon and he said he was sorry to have had that happen. He’d try and find out what the poison was and if they could reverse its effects upon Simon’s heart.

He told me that his guards couldn’t have protected Simon against the attack by doctor and suggested we station someone outside his room to protect him in case they tried it again. I told him someone was there and we were waiting for the results of blood tests.

Tom had gone home so the electrician could gain entry to the house. It looked as if the dishwasher was phut and it had caused the short which blew a ring main. He’d called the appliance shop he always used and they promised to deliver a new one during the afternoon. The good news was the insulation on the fridge and two freezers was good enough to keep everything safe and David was cooking with just the Aga.

We had lunch at the hotel and set off in the early afternoon. Men from the Portsmouth Appliance Centre were unloading the new dishwasher. They’d remove the old one and fit the new, plus test it before they went. At least we had power now so cups of tea were available—I went mad and had two then went off to pack some clean jammies for Si. Trish asked to accompany me. I knew why.

After having yet another wee—bloody tea—we set off and I asked her why she wanted to come. “You know why, Mummy.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, he’s my daddy an’ I love him.”

“I suppose that’s a good enough reason.” The way she was smirking showed that she knew that she’d wrong footed me.

“Yeah,” she said and gazed out of the window as we tried to get to the QA before the schools let out. The traffic just seizes up.

Simon was still asleep but his vitals were good and his kidneys were now functioning normally. Apparently they’d been causing a little concern earlier on. Now it was just his heart that was seen as a worry.

We let the doctor go. Allie had come with us and she stood guard outside the door so the guy that had been there could get a chance to eat drink and use the loo. Trish went straight up to Si and kissed him then said, “Awake, sleeping beauty.” He stayed asleep. “Huh, so much for fairy tales.”

“Sleeping beauty was only suffering from a bad spell.”

“A bad spell of what, Mummy?”

“A witch put her under a spell.”

“Oh, I thought you meant a bad spell of weather or someone who couldn’t spell for toffee.”

“Like you, you mean?”

“I can spell toffee.” She paused for a moment, “Would I have to clean my teeth after spelling it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to spell it then.”

“Can you two keep the noise down? I’m trying to sleep.”

We both sniggered. I’d been healing on him ever since I’d realised how much help he was going to need and it woukldn’t have surprised me if Trish had done the same. Okay, she’s a precocious ten year old who upsets people because her emotional cleverness in no way resembles her intelligence—there she’s almost like a post grad student.

The problem with plain cleverness is that it doesn’t help in relationships as you don’t quite learn how to read other people’s mood or feelings, hence my annoyance with her the other week. However, when she’s nice she’s very, very nice and when she’s bad she’s horrid.

She hugged her dad and kissed him, “See, I told you it would work—a kiss from a beautiful princess—it always works in Disney.”

“So it does,” he agreed and as we hit full steam ahead and Simon gasped his chest and fell back against the pillows. For a moment we both thought he was foolling about with us—seemed like he wasn’t. I pressed the emergency button on his handset and tried to get him flat to start CPR.

It’s amazing how fast doctors can travel when they’ve a mind to. They came running from everywhere and we withdrew to let them do their stuff. While we waited we sent him love and healing.

“How did that happen, Mummy?”

“I don’t know, just plain old fashioned bad luck, I guess,” I shrugged as well for good measure.

“Were you healing on him—earlier, I mean?”

“You know I was.”

“So it shouldn’t have happened?”

“These things do, I’m afraid. As his heart healed, a bit of muck from an artery might have been thrown off and it blocked somewhere else.”

“Hmm,” was all she said but from the expression on her face it wasn’t going to happen again.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2606 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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“Lady Cameron, we’re transferring your husband to ICU.”

“Might we see him once he’s been transferred.”

“He’s very poorly, why don’t you and your daughter go and get something to eat or drink and pop down there in half an hour or so.”

“Fine. Come along Trish, let’s go and get a cuppa.” Which was what we did, actually, I had a cuppa and some carrot cake and she had a fruit drink with a KitKat. We sat and chatted until Trish asked if we could heal on him from this distance. “It could be done over any distance, why?”

“I think we should be doing it now—he needs us to do it, Mummy.”

“It feels that strong, does it?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Let’s do it, but we’ll go outside—too many people here.”

We wandered outside the building and found a quiet spot where the sun shone on us but we were protected from the seemingly endless winds which recently had caused some serious damage in places. I wondered if the jet stream was too far south again as we should be having better weather now.

I explained to Trish what I felt we should do and she seemed happy to go along with it. Basically, we stood and held hands imagining Simon was between us and that the light was surrounding him and being absorbed by his body. From there it was taken into his bloodstream and into his damaged heart. There I imagined it was repairing his heart and restoring it to normal.

After twenty minutes I felt we’d done enough—or as much as we could and we set off to go to intensive care or the coronary care part.

Allie was looking flustered as we went in, “Where’ve you been?”

“We went for a cuppa and a walk.”

“No, I mean just now.”

“We were walking out in the grounds.”

“You were here a couple of minutes ago with your husband. I saw you myself.” Trish was about to say something when I stopped her, “Yes but we popped out for a moment.” Unseen by Allie, Trish rolled her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

“She wouldn’t have understood.”

“How d’you know?”

“C’mon let’s see how Daddy is,” we sat down beside Simon and each grabbed one of his hands. The energy began to flow again and a short while later his eyes flickered open. He smiled and closed them again.

“Hang in there, Daddy; we’ll get you better.”

We left about half an hour or twenty minutes later, Allie drove us in my car. “That blue stuff you do is very clever,” she told us.

“We’ve been practicing.”

“Would it have knocked my socks off?” she asked.

I’d forgotten about my demonstration earlier. “It might have done.”

“You’re going to make him better, aren’t you?”

“We try to complement the doctors.”

“How is he?”

“A little better after our hiccup this afternoon.”

“Oh good; James phoned earlier.”

“Oh? What did he want?”

“They called the Russian ambassador to the Foreign Office.”

“Did they now. Do we know why.”

“He’s been told to call off his dogs.”

“Will he?”

“Who knows? According to James, if he doesn’t they’ll be sent home in body bags.”

“Does the FO usually talk in such terms?” I wasn’t convinced.

“That’s what he said, so I assume MI5 will stop talking and start doing.”

“Or give you license to go hunting,” I suggested in half jest as they’d effectively been doing so for the past week or two.

“Perhaps.”

We were driving towards home when a large van suddenly stopped in front of us and a BMW pulled right up behind us. Not even Allie could do anything to avoid the trap being sprung. Two men hopped out of the car holding handguns and I told Trish to drop to the floor behind the seats. “Whatever happens stay down there, okay?”

“Yes, Mummy,” she squeaked in a very quiet voice.

One of the gunmen approached each door calling for us to get out of the car. They stayed just far enough away to avoid being hit by the doors as we exited the vehicle. We stood with our hands raised, when one of them in trying to search Allie, got too close and she moved like a snake striking, it was so quick I barely saw it, but she grabbed him, shot him with his own gun and then shot the other one before he could react. Then she fired into the windscreen of the BMW which was reversing very quickly and at the driver’s side of the van. Both drove off at speed with her firing at both of them.

“The season is apparently open,” I said trying to stop my knees knocking.

“Yeah, but on them not you,” she said as sirens sounded in the distance. I bent over to check the man who was lying in the road. Part of his head was missing and there was a large pool of blood spreading in the road.

All I could think was that we’d be hours before we could get home.

“I called the police, Mummy—was that the right thing to do?”

“Well done, kiddo, that was exactly the right thing to do.”

She went to get out of the car and I told her to stay there and not look, of course she did exactly the opposite of what I said. “Ooh, cor that’s lots a blood isn’t it?”

Allie looked at me and then looked away. I was ready to fill my panties not knowing if they were just going to kill us or what and Trish is talking like someone who’s just walked out onto the beach and seen the sea not a scene of carnage. Does she just detach herself or has living with me caused her to become desensitised to such acts? I hoped not.

As predicted, we were taken off to the police HQ and questioned separately, except Trish, who stayed with me. Our stories should have checked out because we were telling the truth. Allie had permission to carry a concealed weapon given the risk status. That she didn’t use it but the two Russians were killed in the struggle seemed a huge coincidence. I wasn’t telling the exact truth because I suggested that Allie had tried to disarm the man and the gun had gone off and he’d been shot by his own gun and his mate was also shot in the ensuing scrap. The copper gave me an old fashioned look.

“Look, Lady Cameron, I know how serious this business is, but we can’t have people being shot on the streets of Portsmouth just because you live here.”

“Where would you like them shot then?” I threw back at him.

“I didn’t mean it literally,” he conceded.

“You shouldn’t have said it then. I’m British, I have a right to live wherever I like, that these murderous gangsters can just appear and try to kill me and my children is disgraceful. If you suggest I don’t have the right to defend myself or employ help to do so is doubly so.”

“It wasn’t you killing them this time was it?”

“Meaning what?”

“Nothing—but you don’t have to do the paperwork, do you?”

“If that’s your biggest concern, I tell you what—I'll fill in the forms and you can take your chances against the Russian secret service.”

“All right—I apologise—okay?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2607 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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When we got home Trish was full of the attack, but when asked what happened, she had to say she didn’t see it all. We were at the police HQ for two hours, my car being part of a crime scene had to stay there and they’d return it to me in a couple of days. Wonderful—just bloody wonderful.

At least I had the Mondeo to use, so once we got home, by taxi at my expense—I was able to declare my use of the Mondeo until I got the Jaguar back. I shouldn’t complain, the Mondeo was a very good car and I was lucky to have it as a fall back.

After dinner, another delicious creation by our resident gourmet chef—no wonder my clothes were getting tight—I was working in my study, having I hoped, washed my mind of the recent attack when Allie came to say she was going to bed if that was okay with me.

“Of course, but tell me, Allie, how long have you been working for MI5?”

“I don’t,” she blushed.

“I don’t believe you, furthermore, I wondered how you got a permit to carry a concealed weapon. If you’re part of the security services, then it would follow.”

“That’s pure conjecture, Lady Cameron.”

“No it isn’t, it’s a conclusion made from observations.”

“It’s quite an assumption.”

“It’s right though isn’t it?”

“What difference would it make?”

“Not much, except Simon thought he was paying for your services.”

“He is.”

“You do contract work?”

“Yes, sort of.”

“Thank you for saving my life earlier.”

“That’s what you pay me for. Goodnight, Lady Cameron.”

“Goodnight, Allie.”

She was part of the SIS or MI5, I was almost certain. Who else would be able to carry a gun around?”

“Loads of villains do it everyday.”

“But not with police consent.”

“How d’you know?”

“I think I do. So is everything just a fib to make us more dependent on you?”

“If I was with the secret service, and let’s assume for the purpose of argument that I am, what difference does it make?”

“I hope that you will continue to carry a concealed weapon. I don’t approve of them but accept that I have to adjust my attitude according to my need and possibly, more importantly, my children.”

“You killed to protect them, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How did you feel—afterwards, I mean?”

“I had nasty dreams for weeks and wished I hadn’t done it. I bore the mark of Cain to be biblical about it.”

“But you did it?”

“Yes, with less hesitation than I’d have liked to admit. I stopped thinking about the morality and concentrated on the practicalities. It was a straight kill or be killed situation.”

“I felt that about today.”

“You’re probably right. If they’d taken us hostage, they’d have had power to dictate terms. You stopped that and probably saved all our lives. I hope that’s a last ditch attempt if the ambassador has the authority to call them off.”

“The Russians are pretty brutal.”

“I know, I’ve dealt with them several times. I don’t know why they don’t go away and pester someone else.”

“The gen is they feel High St is ripe for the takeover, or would be once their campaign got underway.”

“At times, it’s only Sammi who keeps them at bay.”

“If they knew that, she could be at risk.”

“They probably know she’s the cyber security manager. Whether they know, she’s also the main cog in the wheel, is another matter.”

“Keep it quiet if you can.”

Just then the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Is that Lady Cameron?”

“Yes.”

“Lady Cameron, this is Inspector Shaw of the Metropolitan Police.”

“Yes, Inspector.”

“You know a Samantha Cameron?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“It appears she was involved in a hit and run accident earlier.”

“How is she?”

“I’m not qualified to say, she’s in Charring Cross Hospital.”

“How can I verify that this is a genuine call, Inspector?”

“I’ve asked the local force to send someone round to you.”

“Any idea of who the perpetrator was?”

“Not at present, we’re naturally at a very early stage of our enquiry.”

“Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”

“What would you like me to do?” asked Allie.

“I don’t know. Let me speak with Henry.” I called him and spoke to Monica, he was out at a function but she’d tell him as soon as he came home.” I sent him a text just in case. As chairman of the bank, he needed to know and to expect a cyber attack in the near future.”

The doorbell rang and Andy Bond stood at the front door. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings.”

“Is this about Sammi?” I asked.

“I’m afraid so. It appears she was hit by a car which drove off.”

“So I heard.”

“I’m sorry, Lady C, she’s a pretty kid.”

“It’s an assassination attempt, Andy.”

“What?”

“The Russians who kidnapped Si have almost certainly done it, because they’re going to attack the bank via the internet.”

“Of course, she’s good with puters isn’t she?”

“She’s very good.”

“I hope she makes it.”

“So do I, Andy, so do I.”

He left soon afterwards. “Anything you’d like me to do?” asked Allie.

“I’m going to London to see Sammi.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I’d feel happier if you were here with the girls.”

“My job is to protect you.”

“Can you get me a gun, Allie?”

“If I’m here, why would you need one?”

“Because if Sammi or Simon die, I’m going to kill the Russian ambassador and his family and as many of their legation as I can before they stop me.”

“What would that achieve?”

“Justice.”

“What about your other children?”

“All right, it was a stupid thing to say.”

“You’re angry, understandably so.”

“I’m going to tell the others, have your lot finished putting bugs in my car yet?”

“The police have your car.”

“Only to try and make it all look normal.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

I went off to talk with Stella and the older girls and also Daddy who was in his study. Naturally they all wanted to come with me, but I chose to take Trish with me. I needed her healing ability and her computer skills. I knew she talked with Sammi about computers all the time. She might be able to help the bank. I almost laughed at myself. Was I cracking up? A ten year old to keep out the Russian mob?

Yeah, why not—she’s not just any old genius—she’s British, and we invented computers.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2608 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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Allie drove the Mondeo up to London to Charring Cross Hospital. Henry had texted to say he’d meet us there. I found it ironic that this was the main gender unit of the NHS and I’d never been here before. But then I rarely do things the same way as everyone else, I was definitely a goat not a sheep.

Trish had gone off to sleep on the back seat as soon as we entered the motorway and stayed that way until we got to the hospital. It was the same as any large hospital building, huge concourse with a reception and a series of lifts to various wards and departments. I enquired at reception for my daughter—she was as I expected in ICU. Allie stayed in the car with the somnolent Trish so it was a solitary Cameron who went in search of her injured daughter.

The nurse in charge was reluctant to let me see her. “I don’t believe you’re her mother—you’re only just older than her.”

“You know she’s a transgender woman?”

“So?” I suppose in this place is was no big deal.

“When I first met her she came to me for advice, she was a student and I was one of the teachers nominated to help with personal issues.”

“That doesn’t make you her mother.”

“She was still in boy mode then and one of my other daughters was a hairdresser beautician. She gave her a makeover. Sammi was overwhelmed as her own parents were unhelpful if not transphobic. She stayed the night and has been with us ever since. She sort of adopted me as her mother and I’ve tried to encourage her ever since. My husband got her a job with the bank and she loves it. Since then she’s finished her degree and started a doctorate.”

“You are down as her next of kin, remember that she may be unconscious but might still hear anything you say—so keep it positive. I’ll warn you now that she’s not a pretty sight.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure you want to see her?”

I nodded. This was going to be heart rending and I hoped that her beautiful face wouldn’t be too damaged. Despite psyching myself up for what I might see, I was devastated to see the battered and bloodied body lying in the bed. Surrounded by machines monitoring her vital functions she looked like a piece of steak in human form. I was very nearly sick. If I hadn’t seen the name Samantha Cameron above her bed I’d not have recognised her.

I wiped away the tears and with the nurse’s approval sat beside her. Taking her hand in mine, I said, “Hello, darling, Mummy’s here—I’ve come to help you get better...”

An hour later I became aware that Henry was standing watching me with the nurse. I’d been so wrapped up in what I was doing that I hadn’t noticed they were there. Apparently, the blue light got rather intense at one point and Henry had to ask the nurse to let me continue undisturbed as it would help Sammi recover more quickly.

I staggered to my feet to hug my pa in law and while I did so the nurse was gasping. “Her readings are nearly normal and the bruising has decreased—it’s amazing. Who are you? The patients either side have improved dramatically too. What are you—some sort of angel?”

I looked her directly in the eye and said, “Yes I am, something wonderful has happened tonight but sadly you won’t remember what, will you?”

Her eyes glazed over and she shook her head. I released from the trance and she went off to the nurse’s station. I threw a bubble of blue light around Sammi and said I’d be in again tomorrow. Henry walked me back to the car where Trish was fast asleep. He insisted we follow him back to Hampstead as it was safer than anywhere else in London.

Trish was put to bed in a single bed in my room in case she woke in the night and wondered where she was. I told Henry that I’d brought her to help keep the bank safe. He didn’t quite scoff having seen her in action before but he looked far from convinced that it was a good idea. He hoped Sammi’s team would be able to improvise until she returned.

“You saw her, Henry, that could be months. She looked like she’d been hit by a train.”

“Yes I know but your blue light will shorten that, won’t it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t control it, Henry, it does its own thing and tonight it wanted to help Sammi. She’s now stable so it might move on and help someone else.”

“Oh, I thought you did have some control over it.”

“Not very much. I asked it to help save her life and repair all her injuries—it could still take months.”

“I don’t think we have months.”

“I’m sorry but lives come before tradition.”

“Of course, do what you can and I’ll take Trish to the bank tomorrow and see how she could help us.”

“I honestly don’t know if she can but she’s better than nothing.”

“I’ll take what you can offer to help and be grateful,” he took my hand and kissed it gently. Monica organised a room for Allie which was fairly close to mine, so I felt reasonably safe. There were also guards walking about outside, so we were probably as safe as we could be.

I rose late the next morning, or late for me. It was nine o’clock and Trish’s bed was empty. I saw that before I noticed the time. For a moment I was aghast then realised she’d be having breakfast with Henry and Monica who’d spoil her rotten.

I showered and changed into the clothes laid out for me—some of Stella’s old ones which fit like my own. I had to reuse my old bra and shoes but that was all. When I arrived downstairs I discovered Henry had taken Trish off with him to the bank and Allie was waiting for me chatting with Monica and Mrs Jenkins the housekeeper.

Mrs Jenkins ignored my request for just a cuppa and piece of toast and gave me a pair of poached eggs on toast with a fresh pot of tea. Monica smiled at my short lived embarrassment and told me to eat up before she produced a full English. I took the hint and enjoyed my eggs on toast.

Allie escorted me to the hospital where once again I sat and healed on Sammi, who I began to recognise again. “You know, Mrs Cameron, I’ve never seen anyone heal that quickly before,” said the nurse who was different to the one I’d met last night.

“We’re all very quick healers in our family,” was my response while Allie who’d watched it all said quietly that her arm which was hurt in the scuffle the day or so before felt much better. I smiled in reply.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2609 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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The next morning I came down to breakfast and Mrs Jenkins insisted I eat some eggs or bacon, plus some fruit and toast or cereal. “It’s the most important meal of the day,” she declared, and I would have agreed with her except I wasn’t that hungry, that early. It was half past seven and Allie came in having been out running on the heath. I wished I’d known, I’d have gone with her, though I remembered that Henry had a gym in the basement which was next to the indoor pool. I drank a cup of tea, told Mrs Jenkins I’d have some scrambled eggs on toast in an hour and ran off to the pool. I found a swimsuit to fit and swam circuits for half an hour then went into the gym and used the rowing machine for ten minutes and the exercise bike for ten after which I dashed up to my room and showered before dressing in jeans and TdF tee shirt.

Henry came in as Mrs Jenkins brought my scrambled eggs complete with a slice of smoked salmon—it was lovely so I did nothing but sit and eat it and drink a pot of tea. As I finished my filling meal my father in law sat opposite and drank the coffee his housekeeper brought him.

“I’ve just come from a meeting with the minister of state at the Home Office.” I nodded sipping my tea. “They know whose car hit Sammi.” I felt my eyes grow wider. “He’s an attaché at the Russian embassy—so big surprise.”

“How do they know it was him?” I asked putting the cup down, my hands were shaking.

“Some witnesses and he took the car to a repair shop who informed the police. They found threads of her clothing and some of her DNA on the damaged wing.”

“I suppose he has diplomatic immunity.”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh?”

“He was found floating in the Thames early this morning.” He saw the look I gave him. “Nothing to do with me; I’d have wanted him brought to trial so these bastards could be exposed.”

“So why did they kill him?”

“Presumably because he gave us evidence of their involvement. Now it will look as if we had him killed; or that will be the story they’ll go for, so a little birdy tells me.”

“The attack was deliberate, not just some dangerous driving?”

“Yes, the plod found an old couple in some flats who saw the car turn round and come back at her. Apparently she tried to dive out of the way and he caught her as she was jumping over a wall.”

“I’m glad he’s dead, all we need to know is who gave the order and bring him to justice.”

Henry shook his head. “They all have diplomatic immunity.”

“D’you know who gave the order—via your little birdy?”

“They say it was high up.”

“The ambassador?”

“Possibly or a senior secretary or attaché, I’m still trying to find out, but the ambassador has been summoned to the Foreign Office again.”

“Pity we can’t shoot him while he’s there, calling him in and dressing him down achieves very little.”

“I don’t know, he could be recalled or expelled.”

“He’ll just say the driver acted alone and that someone here killed him, and try to blame us for it.”

“Pity we don’t know any Chechens.”

“Who said we don’t, but we’ll wait. We Scots hae lang memories, hen.”

“Wait for what?”

“Until he returns to Russia.”

“Then attack him?”

“Perhaps enable someone with a bigger grudge to meet with him.”

“That’s murder, Henry.”

“I prefer to see it as empowering the underdog and besides you were talking about shooting him a moment ago.”

“I’m not sure I believe in assassinations in cold blood.”

“Revenge is a dish best taken cold, my dear, and no one tries to kill one of my granddaughters and gets away with it.”

“If they find out, or provide evidence, your reputation could be compromised.”

“They won’t find out, that I can guarantee.”

“Changing the subject, Si is looking much better, Julie and Danielle have been going to see him every evening and helping him along.”

“Can all you girls do the blue stuff—the healing I mean?” he added on seeing my incredulous look. I knew what he meant but it could quite easily have been a referral to pornography.

“I believe everyone can do it, it just takes time and patience.”

“And belief, perhaps?” he added.

“I don’t believe half of it, so I doubt it.”

“Yes but you’re an established angel, so in your case it probably doesn’t matter.”

“I have to get to see Sammi, where’s Trish?” I suddenly remembered she’d come with me.

“That child is amazing, she was talking with the guy who assists Sammi and showed him a few mistakes in his programming.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I mean one minute she’s watching a children’s video and the next she’s testing his firewall.”

“She used to spend hours with Sammi on those computers, she was the only one who knew what Sammi was on about half the time.”

“We’ve got some help from the military, they spend half their lives trying to keep the Russians and Chinese out of their systems. They tell me the Russians have equipment that makes ours look like rubbish, but we still have the edge on computing.”

“Like they said about the planes they’re going to put on our carriers if they ever finish them?”

“There is a story that the Yanks sent a new hi-tech destroyer up to the Baltic to show a presence and a Russian bomber flew round it a couple of times and disabled all the electronics.”

“So it couldn’t defend itself?” I gasped.

“It couldn’t move, so they could have sunk it at will.”

“And that’s supposed to be true?”

“According to a retired rear admiral I know, yes.”

“Perhaps we’d better not start a war with Russia, then.”

“Cathy, the way this lot have depleted the armed services, we couldn’t fight a war against the Argentine again—and they’ve just found oil and gas off the Falkland Islands. Typical isn’t it?”

“Gosh, that would be difficult to extract—it’s so cold down there and stormy.”

“If they want it badly enough, they’ll manage it.”

“You wouldn’t finance it would you?”

“Not without working out the risks, why?”

“As your environmental adviser, it would be better to be moving away from fossil fuels.”

“We have investments in green energy too, you know. We try to keep a balanced portfolio.”

“Where the greatest return is involved no doubt.”

“Not entirely. We try to act ethically, so have minimal moneys in armaments and chemicals used to make ordinance, but we have shares in aerospace because they are cutting edge industries; like we do in electronics and information technology companies. My first responsibility is protecting the integrity of the bank, so I try to keep us clean and respectable—our reputation is very important.”

“The cyber companies wouldn’t be into defence against internet attacks would they?”

“We have quite a broad spectrum interest in the cyber field, so some of it would, yes. Why?”

“Was Sammi involved?”

“A couple used her as a consultant, why?”

“I just wondered, that’s all. I have to go and see her, where’s Allie?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2610 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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Allie arrived and we took a taxi to Charing Cross Hospital, which is in Fulham having moved there twenty or more years ago. It’s a big London teaching hospital and in some ways I was glad Sammi was here as the level of expertise was likely to be greater than in even somewhere like Portsmouth.

Sammi was under the care of Mr Ahmad, who turned out to be a tall elegant Middle Eastern man who spoke English without the hint of an accent. “You are this young woman’s mother?”

“Adopted mother, yes.”

“The injuries she received were severe and I wondered at one point if she would survive and then if we’d have to amputate one or both legs.”

My tummy flipped. I couldn’t imagine Sammi without legs—the vivacious young woman that she is or was—would she cope? I don’t think I could.

“Happily, I believe she will make a full recovery and keep both her legs.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding in unconsciously. “Thank goodness for that, thank you so much Mr Ahmad for the care you’ve given her. We’re all so grateful.”

“I have done nothing other than try to keep her alive to be able to operate, I would like you to tell me what you did to her during your visit to improve her one hundred per cent.”

I blushed—oh bugger—I suppose as Sammi’s life was in the balance and now she’s improving, it’d be worth my sacrifice to keep her that way—if the energy allows it. “I didn’t do anything—only talk to her.”

“So, Mrs Cameron, you talk to Samantha and the patients either side of her improve dramatically as well? I did not come down the Thames in a banana boat, so what did you do?”

“Mr Ahmad, all I did was sit and hold her hand and talk to her.”

“You come from Portsmouth, do you not?”

“Near there, yes.”

“There is rumoured to be some magical healer there, is there not?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m a university teacher not a health professional and the few times I was a patient in the hospital there, I didn’t see any magical healer.”

He fixed me with a stare, “Show me how you talked to your daughter.” He marched me out to the cubicle in which Sammi lay and blushing I sat beside her and touched her hand. As soon as I held her hand she smiled although still in a coma.

“Hello, darling, I’m back: I want you to concentrate on my voice and follow it back to wakefulness when you feel ready. Now imagine a beam of sunlight coming directly down to you—like a gift from the universe. Feel its warmth on your skin and feel yourself relaxing as you luxuriate under this delicious sunshine. As your skin warms let it allow the light to pass through it and into your body. It’s a very special light and can help heal the injuries you received in your accident. So let this light enter your body and heal you—feel it circulating around you repairing damage or injury wherever it finds it, reducing pain and swelling. See it doing this now.”

“You are using hypnosis, Mrs Cameron.”

“Suggestion I prefer to call it, but yes guiding and encouraging the body to heal itself. All I’m doing is speeding things up a little.”

“Just a little?”

“Yes, why?”

“Mrs Cameron, before your visit your daughter had multiple fractures on both legs. Today we re X-rayed them, she has no fractures and swelling has halved, even if it was speeded up a little it would take six weeks or longer to arrive at this state. How did you do it?”

“You watched me just now.”

“The nurse spoke about a blue light being about you—where is that today?”

“What blue light?”

“Mrs Cameron stop playing games with me—show me how you do it—please.”

“If the light agrees to cooperate—okay.”

“What is this light that it makes decisions?”

“I don’t know where it comes from or why it chose me, but it did and it decides if it will work with me or through me.”

He shook his head, “Please ask if it will help you assist this other lady who has some very nasty injuries.” He led me over to a different cubicle where a woman in her forties lay attached to more machines than they have in NASA for space travel.

I was trapped but if this was what I had to do to save Sammi, I would, assuming the light would play ball with me. I sat next to the woman and taking her hand spoke to her. “Hello, Mary, my name’s Cathy and I’ve been asked to help you. I know you’re in a strange place at the moment but just trust me and listen to my voice and in a moment you will see a blue light, just follow it and it will lead you back here, back to your body and to full health...” I could feel the energy flowing but whether or not the others could see it, I didn’t know—nor care that much.

The woman had multiple organ failure from trauma—I saw the accident in my mind’s eye—she was hit by a motorcyclist while crossing the road. The rider died at the scene and so did she except the paramedics restarted her heart a few minutes later. She had brain damage, but I’d managed to sort that quite quickly, her kidneys were another matter and she had a tear in her liver—fusing that was a challenge.

I stopped when I’d sorted the major problems. Mr Ahmad was still watching me. “Is that it?” he asked.

I nodded, “Yes, she’ll survive—but it’s going to be a long job. The motorcyclist didn’t survive the accident?”

“No, he died at the scene.”

“Ruptured aorta, nasty,” I said.

“How d’you know that?”

“I saw it through Mary’s eyes and just knew.”

“Your daughter is conscious. You were healing her as well, weren’t you?”

“I’m only an instrument, the energy goes where it will.”

“You have a real gift. Two other patients who we’d almost given up on have improved and may well recover. You helped them too, didn’t you?”

“Did I?”

“You must let us research this energy—it could save millions of lives.”

“Sadly I can’t do that and I’m afraid you’ll forget what you’ve seen and accept that my family heal remarkably quickly.” There was a flash of blue and he seemed disoriented for a moment and walked off without seeing me. I returned to Sammi. As he said she was awake.

“Hello, darling,” I bent over and kissed her cheek.

“I knew you were near, Mummy, you said you’d come and rescue me.”

“I try to help, darling.”

“He tried to kill me, Mummy.”

“I know, darling—he can’t hurt you again.”

“How d’you know?”

“He was killed.”

“Killed? But he drove off.”

“They killed him later.”

“Who was it?”

“Some underling from the Russian embassy.”

“Why, Mummy? Why did he try to kill me?”

“I don’t know but we suspect it was to do with the work you do in cyber protection.”

“That’s so unfair, Mummy,” she began to sob.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” I said cuddling her as best I could through all the tubes and wires.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2611 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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“You really have something special, don’t you?” said Allie as we ate in the hospital cafeteria.

“In what way?” I said acting a little dumb.

“You know exactly what I mean. The blue stuff, the surgeon bloke couldn’t see it but I could, it was pouring out of you into that poor woman and going over to your daughter and even my knee got a bit.”

“Your knee?”

“Yeah, I did a cartilage doing judo about ten years ago—had a small op on it, but it’s always given me a little trouble. It feels brilliant now.”

“Good.”

“You know what’s wrong with your patients as well, don’t you?”

“Sometimes. That poor woman was just hours away from a post mortem.”

“She’s going to live is she?”

“Yes, now she is. It will take months for her to recover but I healed the brain injury, sorted her torn liver and cleared her kidneys.”

“Jesus—you virtually rebuilt her.”

“If you put it like that, yeah, I suppose I did.”

“Do you enjoy playing god?”

“I’m not playing god, I don’t decide who lives or dies—sometimes they still die despite my best endeavours. I do enjoy helping people though.”

“So why didn’t you study medicine instead of dormice?”

“Never occurred to me.”

“Sure?”

“Okay, my best friend did go off to do it, but with my personal problems I didn’t think it would be a good idea. I could disappear as a biologist and appear somewhere else as someone else—or so I thought.”

“It wasn’t the case?”

“No, they all knew in a couple of months—I suspect medicine would have been the same. At least I don’t have issues with patients telling me they’d prefer to be seen by a proper woman.”

“Parents don’t say it about their children being taught by you then?”

“No—they’re all supposed to be adults anyway. There was a murmur about toilets when I transitioned, but I ignored it anyway—unless they look under the door they couldn’t see anything anyway plus I found some way to hide everything, so it wasn’t an issue.”

“What one of these jockstrap things, what do they call them—a gaff?”

“Uh no, think super glue and lots of pulling and pushing.”

She smirked then sniggered, so did I protesting that it wasn’t funny as it was very uncomfortable—which only made her laugh even more.

“You know, while I’m laughing at your reminiscences I have difficulty believing you were ever a boy. Especially seeing you as a wife and mother—there is no boy there at all—is there?”

I shrugged, “I’m not the best person to ask, am I?”

“You have all these girls, didn’t you ever want a son or didn’t Simon?”

“It wasn’t to be.”

“Oh right, fine—do we have to collect Trish?”

I looked at my watch, “Oh crikey, we’re late.” We almost ran from the hospital and came close to bowling over some woman coming in. I apologised and the deep voice which replied tended to indicate which department they were going to.

“Was that...?” asked Allie.

“It is Charing Cross.”

She nodded and looked to make some stupid remark then seeing my expression passed on it.

“She probably feels as female as you or I.”

“Okay, I know when to keep shtum.”

A cab was discharging a fare so we engaged it to take us to the bank HQ. He told us it would cost quite a lot but I nodded and he smiled as we pulled into the afternoon traffic and headed east across the river.

At Canary Wharf, we got out and I paid the fare, leaving us about fifty yards to walk. I became aware that we were being followed, I think Allie picked up on it too. Then some youngster came jogging towards us and as he drew level all hell broke loose. Two of the men jumped on Allie and knocked her to the ground, the jogger grabbed at me but I saw it coming and stepped back ducking away from him, clutched his arm kicked his stomach and hurled him at the two still fighting with my companion.

He hit one of the attackers and they fell off Allie, the third jumped up clutching some sort of knife, “Come on, bitch,” he said waving his hand for me to attack.

I was aware that Allie was lying very still so she was either dead or badly hurt. I was now angry as well as frightened. The two others were egging their mate to take me. He did, or tried. He leapt at me and I dropped backwards my foot caught him in the crotch and propelled him over me and into a wall. Rolling away, I jumped up and took out number two as he lunged at me and walked straight into a kick which rearranged much of his dentition and sent him staggering backwards. His colleague ran.

Blue lights and sirens arrived and the police picked up the two attackers. Bending to assist Allie, I realised it was too late. The thin stiletto had pierced her heart. “You my son, are going down for a long time,” said a policeman to the dazed attacker I’d kicked into the wall.

The thug suddenly hit him and tried to run away. He gave a blood curdling scream and fell to the ground twitching like he was having a fit. The other copper had fired a taser at him. Judging by the fluid on the ground, the man had wet himself. I felt no pity—in fact I wanted him to suffer. He’d just killed someone I liked.

An ambulance arrived with more police cars and I was ushered away from the scene and into the bank. Henry rushed up and I fell into his arms, “They killed Allie,” I said and began crying, he held me and patted my back. Ten minutes before we’d been talking, now she was dead, giving up her life to protect me—me, what right did I have to live when she was dead? Why did she have to die? For some bloody bank—for stupid money and power. Because some stupid Russian ordered it.

I was so angry, I wanted to go straight to the Russian embassy and kill the ambassador, then all his family. Trish wandered out to me with a girl from Sammi’s office, “Mummy,” she yelled, “what’s wrong?” At that instant I realised I didn’t want to kill anyone, I wanted the killing to stop—it had to stop and it had to stop now.

“What’s the matter, Mummy?” asked Trish who grasped me round the waist and pushed her head into my chest.

“I got attacked coming into the bank, Allie was killed.”

“Allie?” she gasped, “but she was your bodyguard.”

“Yeah, they targeted her, she had little or no chance to fight back.”

“Oh, Mummy, I feel scared that one day they’ll kill you.”

“This has to stop, Henry, and it has to stop now.”

“If only we could, dear girl.”

“Get me a meeting with the Russian ambassador—I’ll stop it.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that easy.”

“You get me the appointment—I’ll do the rest.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good...”

“I’m not asking, Henry, I’m telling you. Come along, Trish, let’s go and see what you’ve been doing up with Sammi’s computer.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2612 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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Trish showed me what she’d been doing and when she went off to the loo, Amelia, the woman she’d been helping said, “She’s amazing, ten years old and has grasped the whole idea of cyber protection. She spent most of the day finding holes in our system and then showing us what she did.”

“Cognitively, she’s off the scale, emotionally, she’s a ten year old. Sometimes remembering that is difficult and gifted children are sometimes difficult to socialise. She doesn’t have many friends because she thinks they’re all children. Fortunately, her sister is nearly as bright so helps her to balance a bit.”

“You’re a professor, aren’t you, Lady Cameron?”

“At Portsmouth, yes.”

“Obviously they get their brains from you.”

“Could explain why I don’t have any left.”

“Come off it, they don’t give professorships away, you have to earn them.”

“They made an exception for me.”

The door knocked and the police arrived wanting a statement. The delay had been caused by examining the scene and taking statements from a couple of witnesses. Everything went quiet for a moment when I told them Allie worked for MI5. The senior copper excused himself for a moment and obviously spoke to someone. He returned to my office a few minutes later.

“We’ll continue taking the statement but someone is coming straight over from the ministry. They’ll want to talk with you as well.”

We continued talking for another half an hour when Edward arrived. He looked very serious. “What happened?” he asked. I told him what I’d told the police. He shook his head. “She was a good operative, we gave her this assignment because she’d had some difficult ones recently. She really enjoyed being with you and your family.”

“She will be much missed, she fitted in so well.”

“I’ll have to go and tell her mother.”

“Might I come with you?”

“What for?”

“Because she died protecting me.”

“From what you said, you were protecting her.”

“No, they obviously sussed she was my bodyguard and decided to take her out first. I hope they get very long prison sentences. What about the one who got away?”

“We’ve got a good idea of who he is and we’ll pick him up eventually. There’s an APB out on him, so unless he decides to swim to Moscow, he can’t leave the country.”

“Good, please let him resist arrest.”

He gave me a very old fashioned look, “Lady Cameron, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m sure.”

“What about Allie’s mum, I’d still like to come.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. That you survived and her daughter didn’t, might cause her some anguish; if you see what I mean.”

“I understand, I’d just like to say thank you to her for knowing her daughter and express my condolences.”

“I’ll tell her that.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please do let me know.”

“Staying out of the way might be the best thing you can do, Lady Catherine.”

“The offer is there.”

“I’m sure it’s very generous but don’t hold your breath.” He left soon afterwards. Trish came back to my office, she’d been with Henry’s secretary. Henry brought her back.

“Go and get yourself something nice to wear tonight.”

I looked at him curiously, “Why?”

“We’re meeting a VIP at the Ritz.”

“Who?”

“You said you wanted to speak with someone. It’s tonight.”

“Wow, I really didn’t expect it that quickly.”

“Losing three or four of his men in the past week has made him more amenable. Remember he has to report back to his boss.”

I nodded and scowled.

“I know you don’t approve of him or his boss, but these are the people with whom we have to deal.”

“How do I know I won’t be attacked shopping for a posh frock?”

“He agreed to a truce.”

“If anything happens to any more of my family, I will personally kill him.”

“Are you sure you’re in the best attitude to talk with this man, he’s not one of your students, he’s an astute operator.”

“He nearly killed my daughter, he killed my bodyguard—a woman who was worth ten of him. I will treat him with politeness but I’m not going to be overawed by a murdering bandit.”

“Please, Cathy, I need you to behave or I won’t let it happen.”

“I promise I won’t lay a finger on him.”

“Why doesn’t that give me any comfort?”

“I wouldn’t know, Henry.” I smiled sweetly.

“Go and get your frock—it’ll be black tie.”

“In the main restaurant?”

“No, I’ve ordered a private dining room.”

“Fine, c’mon Trish let’s go shopping.”

“Is it safe, Mummy?”

“Yes, of course it is.” Henry’s limo took us up to Bond Street and to a rather nice boutique. I found a very nice dress in grey with dark red flowers on it, it was made of shot silk. There was no price on it nor on the shoes that went with it. I knew I could borrow a stole or pashmina from Monica or the stuff Stella left at her parent’s house. When I went to pay the manageress told me the account would be sent to the bank. I assumed that meant to me at the bank, but I didn’t argue.

The limo dropped us in Kensington High Street and I bought a skirt and top for Trish and a new nightdress for her and Sammi. I would take it in to her tomorrow. I bought some more makeup and eau de toilette—Coco—my favourite. Then we popped into the hairdressers that Henry had booked and Trish played on her iPad while I got my hair tidied up.

“You’re going to look really smart tonight, Mummy.”

“I hope so, darling.”

“Who are you meeting?”

“Someone I hope can resolve some of this business.”

“Not Rasputin?” she gasped.

“Uh no, he died many years ago.”

“You said he was president of Russia.”

“I was joking, but I’m not seeing the president.”

“Are you seeing someone more important, then?”

“Not more important but possibly more relevant.”

“If it’s the man who killed Allie, I hope he dies.”

“Not while I’m having dinner, darling, it could put me off my pudding.”

“Puddin’?” she laughed.

“Not that Puddin’, my dessert—you know jelly and Ice cream.”

“Oh gosh, yes finish that before he dies, Mummy.”

“He’s no use to us dead.”

“Okay, kill him later then.”

“Trish, it’s not very ladylike to talk about killing people.”

“It’s not very gentlemanly to kill your friend an’ injure Sammi.” She had a point.

“I’m trying to stop the violence, Trish. I don’t want anyone else to die or be hurt.”

“Not on our side, Mummy.”

“Not anywhere, darling.”

“Oh okay,” she smirked and I had to make sure she understood that I meant what I said. Eventually, she agreed she would keep out of things now.

“Now? What have you done?”

“Well there was this group who kept attacking the firewall Sammi had built.”

“And?”

“They were getting close to taking it down, so we traced them and dropped a time bomb on them.”

“A time bomb?”

“Yeah, two hours after they get it it wipes out their hard drives.”

“Like a virus?”

“Yeah, only this one appears to be the same as their code, a bit like Ebola does with the body. They’ll only know it’s there once their computers go down.”

“Did you do that?”

“Uh no, I think Sammi wrote the programme, I just slipped it into their system.”

“Did anyone else know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is it going to affect anyone else’s computer?”

“No, it’s quite specific according to Sammi and it self-destructs as soon as the system crashes, so they won’t be able to find it.”

The more I saw of this child the more in awe I was of her. The difference between Sammi and her was that of maturity. Sammi hadn’t pushed the button for nuclear war because she understood the consequences. Trish had because she didn’t. Scary or what?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2613 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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Back at my parents in law’s house I changed into the dress and did my makeup draping towel across the front of me to protect the dress. A squirt of the Chanel and my jewellery and a watch and I was ready to go. Stella had left a grey wool and silk stole which was embroidered with poppies. It didn’t quite match the dress but it was close enough and popped my purse and mobile into the small grey clutch bag I bought with the shoes.

“You look really nice, Mummy,” offered my fan club.

“You be a good girl for Nanny Monica, won’t you?”

“She won’t give me any trouble,” replied Trish which made Monica goldfish and then laugh. Henry arrived as we were still laughing and he approved of his daughter in law.

We took the limo to the Ritz hotel. En route, I asked Henry to forward me the bill for the dress and shoes. “Cathy, you are on official business for the bank, so the bank will take care of the account.”

“In which case, I should give them to you as soon as we get home.”

“They wouldn’t fit me, so I suggest you keep them—a perk of the job. If you are able to help resolve this business before anyone else gets hurt, I’ll buy you a dozen such dresses.”

“If we can resolve this business, I’ll remind you of your promise, though I suspect you might have to get them in various sizes.”

“Eh?”

“I’m only here because the rest of my family is supporting me, they each deserve a nice frock at the end of it.”

“Fine, that’s what we’ll do then. What dress size is Simon?” We arrived at the hotel chuckling at his pretended silliness and it helped take the edge off our anxiety. “Whatever you do, don’t act nervous or in awe of this guy. He’s clever, he’s powerful but he’s also human and just as vulnerable as you or I.”

“Okay, I’ll just imagine him in his bra and pants then.” Henry snorted at my response.

“Your Lordship, how nice to see you again,” remarked the doorman, “and who is this delightful lady?”

“My daughter in law, Lady Catherine.”

“At your service, Lady Catherine,” he said doffing his hat and bowing.

“Thank you, Albert,” said Henry and shaking his hand put some money in it.

“Have a good evening, your Lordship, your Ladyship.”

A uniformed page met us inside and led us to a small bar where Henry ordered a Scotch with water and I had a dry vermouth. “The other party has just arrived, Lord Stanebury,” announced the page. Henry nodded and ushered me to a table in a nook beside the bar.

“Where are we eating?” I asked him.

“Through there, I think,” he indicated a door just past the bar. As we sipped our drinks, a tall, dark and distinguished looking man appeared with a very lovely blonde woman on his arm. Her dress was exquisite and probably cost thousands as did the Jimmy Choo shoes with skyscraper heels. I felt underdressed already. They walked to the bar and ordered drinks.

“Is that him?” I asked even if was pretty obvious.

“It is.”

“Nearly as good looking as you, Henry,” I said my tongue lodged firmly in my cheek.

“Bless you, my child,” he replied gently tapping my knee. “Here they come.” Henry stood up as the glamorous couple walked towards us.

Henry and the handsome hunk shook hands. “Mr Ambassador, may I present my daughter in law, Lady Catherine.”

The Russian extended his hand and I gave him mine. “Enchanted,” he said with a vague American accent. How is it all these foreigners speak English sounding like they came from Boston?

“Permit me to introduce my wife, Tatiana.” She shook hands with Henry and then with me. My workaday mitts looked neglected compared to her beautifully manicured hands.

“You are also a professor, no?” Tatiana asked me.

“Yes, at Portsmouth University, I teach ecology.”

“I teached English at Moscow university.”

“Ah,” I acknowledged glad I wasn’t on her course.

“Taught, dearest,” corrected her husband.

“Taught?” she queried.

“Past tense of teach.”

“Of course, so silly of me, do forgive me,” she said blushing.

“Your English is better than my Russian,” I confided to her.

We chatted informally for ten or fifteen minutes and had a second drink. This time I went for lime and soda which made Henry’s eyebrows rise. Hard drink to me is one with ice in it. Mr and Mrs Ambassador were knocking back the G and Ts like there was no tomorrow.

Led to our dining room we were introduced to a Mr Spicer from the Foreign Office and some Russian bloke called Georg, I think. They were there to advise us and translate—in other words to try and ensure everybody understood what was being said.

We ate a sumptuous meal for which I would not liked to have paid. I had a fruit starter which was delicious, Henry had the pâté which looked very nice too. I felt anxious not to over eat or drink as it would blunt my mind and the ambassador looked a smart cookie.

Over the meal we chatted about our families. I said with contrived innocence that my husband and daughter were both ill in hospital the one having been kidnapped and left to die, the other having been hit by a car in an attempted murder. I felt Henry wince, but the bastard sitting opposite was responsible. His wife made reassuring noises—so perhaps she didn’t know.

She showed me a photo of her daughter, Nikola. As soon as I saw it I saw a darkness over her right eye. “Pretty girl,” I remarked.

“Yes, she is my precious child.”

“Is she well?”

“Yes, just little headache.”

“Tatiana, please get her headaches checked out.”

“It’s nothing—too much television.”

“Please—for me.”

“You know something? Ecology is not medicine, is it?”

“Cathy gets these hunches,” offered Henry.

“Hunches—places rabbits live?” checked Tatiana.

“Intuitions,” said her husband and she nodded.

“What is matter with Nikola?”

“Probably nothing but please check it out.”

“Embassy doctor don’t say nothing, just eye strain.”

“That’s probably all it is then.” I knew different but why should I help these people who put two of my family in hospital and killed my bodyguard. Their daughter had a tumour pressing on the optic nerve, she would be blind in a month and dead in twelve unless they acted soon.

My main course was fillet of Welsh lamb, Henry had the same the Russians had steak. For dessert I had sorbet though I could have chosen half a dozen other things they looked so enticing. I drank a glass of red wine—a Merlot which went down rather well with my meal. Afterwards coffee and liqueurs—I ordered a sex on the beach, which got some raised eyebrows—so, I like cranberry juice.

The social niceties over, the table was quickly cleared for the main course—our discussions. Mrs Ambassador sat back from the table, I quite pointedly took my place next to Henry. I also asked for tea to be added to the drinks being placed on a side table with fresh milk not the awful UHT sort.

“Lady Catherine is acting as a negotiator?” checked the Russian official.

“Lady Catherine, requested this meeting,” replied Spicer.

“Very well, shall we begin?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2614 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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“Before we go any further, I feel we should set some ground rules.”

“Such as?” asked his excellency.

“Such as we respect each other and show a degree of honesty, which I appreciate is possibly the exact opposite of diplomacy.”

His face was deadpan. “Do you have such a low opinion of my profession?”

“I am trying to remain impersonal. We all represent vested interests. They are directly opposed to each other. They both control significant resources and could thus cause injury or pain to each other on an increasing scale. It would be tantamount to all out warfare which could easily involve governments confronting each other. My intention is to try and reduce the confrontation to reduce suffering and for a lasting truce to be established.

“Rather than knocking your profession, your excellency, I’m asking you to demonstrate it and stop this stupidity before it gets out of hand, because neither of us can win, just lose a little less than their opponent.”

The two Russians spoke quietly with lots of nodding or shaking of heads. Henry patted my knee presumably as being a gesture of support rather than a dirty old man.

“So you will sell us the bank?” was his opening gambit. I felt Henry tense though he was still smiling.

“What would we get in return?” I asked.

“You would have a decent price and live in peace.”

“How much is a decent price?” I asked.

“We would have to consider that.”

“I should think anything in excess of a trillion US dollars would be acceptable.”

“Pounds sterling,” added Henry realising I wasn’t going to sell his bank.

“This is the famous British sense of humour?”

“Possibly, we always joke when we are most serious.”

“You are joking?”

“Not about the price.”

“I can tell you now that it is ridiculous.”

“No more so than the hostile bid you’re fronting.”

“You think our offers are ridiculous?”

“Your previous actions have been criminal and reprehensible, hardly ridiculous.”

“I think this meeting is over.”

“Sit down ambassador and listen.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t take orders from some jumped up dormouse catcher. I represent the government of the Russian nation.”

“I might be a jumped up dormouse catcher, but I’m an honest one, you’re the representative of a bunch of gangsters who bully their way to success. You cannot win a war with us.”

“I’ve had enough of this stupid woman, who do you think you are?”

“For you, the angel of death.”

“For a stupid woman you have some delusions of grandeur. I think probably, you do not appreciate who you are threatening.”

“You misunderstand me, ambassador. I’m not issuing threats, I’m making prophecies. If you don’t resolve this matter you will die within the year, your daughter will already have died.”

“How dare you make threats about my children.”

“I’m not, you daughter has a brain tumour, it needs immediate attention. You won’t believe me until she goes blind by which time it will be too late. You, will fall foul of one of your oligarch friends and be assassinated by next Easter.”

“This is nonsense.”

“Of course it is, but you will slip and sprain your ankle on the way back into the embassy. You won’t heed my warning until it happens, then you’ll wish you had. I can save your daughter but you’ll reject my offer as you feel it’s some sort of ploy. Perhaps it is, but it’s true. To prove it I will heal your ankle—or will I? Just to prove a point? You already know what I can do—I can fill cart loads of body-bags with your agents, or you can leave us and our bank alone and annoy someone else instead.

“I accept you have greater resources in terms of money available, but is it worth the lives of your family—you included, just for a bank to launder your drug money?”

“You don’t frighten me, girly-boy.”

“You’re a bigger fool than I thought, then. I can save your daughter, your surgeon will paralyse her.”

“I have more faith in him than your mumbo jumbo,” he practically spat at me.

“Have it your own way—enjoy your trip.”

“What trip?”

“The one you will have tonight, oh and they’ll recall you for failure within a month. It will then be too late to save your daughter. I’m sorry for her, living with a murdering bandit.”

“You bitch,” he raised his hand to hit me and I launched a small attack of my own. The blue light knocked him backwards landing on his staggering companion. They both went down

He tried to regain his dignity. “If you lay one finger on her, I shall have you burned alive.”

“If you love her you’ll pack up your yurt and play somewhere else oh and you’ll ask me to cure her.”

“Hell will freeze over first.”

“You’ll be there long before me,” I smiled.

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Lady Cameron—ha.”

“I would. I have seen it.”

“You are sick—I will take your bank and impoverish your family.”

“If I’m sick, you should look in the mirror—when you do, say goodbye to yourself.”

“Well that was a waste of time,” said Spicer.

“He’ll be back and within the week.”

“I doubt it.”

“I’ll remove the protection I’m giving his daughter. She’ll be blind in a fortnight.”

“I’d prefer we didn’t fight this with our children’s lives.”

“So would I, but it’s the only weapon we have.”

“I can’t see him falling for it.”

“He will, it’s already ordained”

“I didn’t think you believed in that sort of thing”

“I’m a girl of surprises.”

“Sure you are.”

Two hours later I received an anonymous call asking me to cure the girl.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2615 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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“Who was that?” asked Henry, we’d not long got back to his house after our abortive meeting.

“I don’t know, but it was someone asking me to heal the little Russian girl.”

“His wife I expect, she seemed rather subdued once we got into the meat of the meeting.”

“She seemed much nicer than he. He might be good looking but he’s a total arsehole.”

“You did have a go at him.”

“Wouldn’t you if he called you girly-boy?”

“I’d have punched his lights out had I heard him. Maybe it showed how exasperated you made him. I suspect he thought you were going to give him a chance to buy the bank. He obviously doesn’t know you, does he? You’re a Cameron, my girl and a rather beautiful one—so ditch the Bozo and run away with me.”

“That would do both our reputations a lot of good.”

“Damn, you women are always so practical about things.”

“Someone has to be.”

“I suppose,” he sighed but a chap can dream, can’t he?”

“Dream or nightmare?”

“Your prophesy bit narked him, so I suspect he’s a tad superstitious.”

“It was intended to make him think.”

My mobile rang again and out of habit I answered it, Henry showed his disapproval by glowering at me. “Hello?”

“Lady Cameron, it is Tatiana Grigovski. My Nikola, she worsens, the pain is unbearables.You said you could help.”

“I could, but I’m not sure I would be safe coming anywhere near the embassy.”

“He won’t agree—stupid man, he call you a witch after you knock him down with your blue flash.”

“Can you bring her out to me somewhere?”

“He won’t allow me to leave at night.”

“Could you do it tomorrow during the day?”

“Easier in day, he has meetings and other business to do.”

“Okay, we’ll meet tomorrow, bring your little girl with you.”

“She in bad pain now, doctor don’t seem able to help.”

“Okay, I’ll send her healing.”

“By courier?”

“No, I shall tune into her and send her healing which should help her to sleep.”

“How you gonna send it—I don’t understand?”

“Go and sit with her and be prepared to be surprised.”

“I already surprised, I never seen anyone knock him down before, not since kid. He don’t like it.”

“Tatiana, if you think that was spectacular just wait and see if he tries anything else. You ain’t seen nothin’, as they say. Call me tomorrow morning and we’ll meet up somewhere safe for both of us.”

“What about Nikola?”

“Go and sit with her and comfort her.”

“You be careful young lady, don’t let your compassion risk your life.”

“Henry, I’m a mother—well sort of...”

“Your children don’t feel in any doubt about who they think you are.”

“Okay, I’m a mother and that means I can’t deny assistance to another mother whose child is suffering.”

“I hope she reciprocates.”

“That’s her problem.”

“I hope it doesn’t become one of ours.”

“Henry, I have to go—work to do.”

“Be careful, don’t give your life away to save your enemies.”

“Henry, no child is an enemy of anyone.” I turned briskly on my heel and went to my room to meditate and try and help this poor child.

I stripped off to my pyjamas and sat on the bed trying to tune into the sick child. It felt as if someone or something was blocking me, like it was all behind a veil of some sort. I imagined myself floating high over the embassy trying to find Tatiana and Nikola. I felt drawn to one window. It had a thin curtain pulled across it but as the light was on inside the room I could see reasonably clearly.

The Grigovskis were arguing and he suddenly upped and hit her. To say I was shocked was an understatement. Other than in self-defence, there are no grounds for hitting a woman. I felt angry, then realised I had to stay calm or the healing wouldn’t work.

He stormed out of the room while she slumped on the bed, I generated a blue light outside the window. She sat crying for a while then she saw the light and walked towards it. “Lady Cameron, you come?” she said opening the window. I was aware she couldn’t see anything but a blue haze, which was what I wanted to present for the moment.

I touched her face and she gasped as I reduced the bruising on her cheek and eye, he’d given her a real back hander—the bastard. She walked in a daze to her child’s bed and sat holding her. The girl was asleep. Two minutes later I allowed them both to see me, Tatiana in her stupor and Nikola in her dreams. I made sure to use dramatic license so what they saw would make them think the archangel Raphael was paying them a house call. Give people what they’re looking for and you’ll have their support for evermore, even if it’s based on fairy tales. The light they would see around me would be intense, so intense it would hurt to view. That would generate a sense of power and help them to believe. It would also incline them not to say anything to anyone else.

I worked for about half an hour when I became aware he’d returned. “What is she doing here?” he screamed at his wife, waking her from her stupor and also waking his daughter. He was about to phone for security when I blue lighted him—as in hit him with a bolt of it. He was literally knocked off his feet again, leaving him winded and stunned.

Fortunately, I’d done enough to let the girl sleep that night I hoped her mother would be crafty enough to slip away with the child for me to examine and work on in the flesh—it’s so much more effective than this airy-airy stuff, which is better than nothing.

As he came round I stood before him so he’d see me bathed in all my glory. It had the desired effect and he shrank away from me. I spoke to him inside his own head, reverberating as if he had no brain after all. “If you ever hit another woman I shall come back and punish you—do you understand?”

He mumbled back in gibberish but it frightened him enough to make him wet himself. That gave me a more acceptable view of him. Feeling playful I touched the wetness of his trousers. I’d forgotten that urine conducts current rather well. It must have achieved some outcome because he screamed in pain and vomited. It was at this point I decided to leave before he was collected enough to douse the smoke coming from his underpants.

I’d only roused myself a moment or two before Mrs Jenkins knocked and entered my bedroom with a fresh cuppa—that woman is a definite miracle worker.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2616 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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Part 218 dozen for the dodecaphiles.

It was during breakfast that Tatiana rang. “He’s mad at you, you burnt his, how you say, his googlies.”

“I think you mean goolies,” I replied and Henry’s eyebrows nearly rose up into his hairline.

“It serve him right, he had no reason to hit me—I was doing what needed to save my child.”

“How is she?”

“She feel a little better. I believe you can cure her, doctor still say it too much TV. He’s a fool.”

“Are you going to be able to bring her out to meet me?”

“I gonna try.”

“Come to the British Museum, there are lots of people there so your people won’t be able to start anything there. I’ll need half or maybe a whole hour.”

“I come with Nikola, what time?”

“How about ten thirty?”

“I be there. Cathy, I trust you, so no disappoint me, will you?”

“I trust you as well, Tatiana. We’re two mothers trying to make sense of a senseless world and bring our children up to be the best people they can be.”

“Ten thirty.”

“I shall be there.” I clicked off my phone.

“You are not going anywhere without a minder.” The way Henry said this meant he would brook no argument. It rankled.

“I’m a big girl now, Henry: I tend to make my own decisions.”

“I respect that, Cathy, but you are part of my family and I protect my family.”

“Can I come, Mummy? You might need my help.” I’d almost forgotten Trish was there she was so quiet.

“Aren’t you going to help the bank today, sweetheart?”

“I left instructions yesterday,” she said without the slightest self conscious undertone. Henry nearly choked on his coffee and I had to smile.

“So they know what to do?”

“I jolly well hope so,” she said frowning and nodding her head with each word to give it emphasis. “Otherwise, I’ll get Gramps to kick their friggin’ arses—eh, Gramps?”

Henry couldn’t answer; this time he was choking on his coffee.

“Less of that sort of language, young lady, if you please.”

“You were on about goolies earlier,” she said back.

“I’m an adult, you’re not. If we’re going to the museum you’d better wear trousers.”

“Okay,” she said and scampered off to change.

“Is it wise to involve Trish in this sort of risk?”

“I thought you said I’d have a minder.”

“Jim is on his way,” he looked at his watch, “should arrive anytime now.”

“At least he can be discreet.” I mused out loud, “Okay, I’ll let him come with us.”

Henry shook his head, “One of these days, Catherine Cameron, your headstrong independent streak is going to get you into all sorts of bother.”

“I thought that was what you liked about me?”

“I’ll get the limo to come back for you, be ready at half nine.”

“I could get used to this being driven everywhere by limousine.”

“If you do, get your husband to pay for it—I pay him enough to afford it.”

“I’m just going to call him, I’ll tell him you send your love.”

“Yes, remind him his desk is vacant and to get his bum back behind it asap.”

“Like I said, I’ll give him your love.” Before he could say anything I slipped upstairs and finished dressing. The sun had been shining for a couple of days but the wind was still quite keen. I’d tried sitting in Henry’s huge conservatory, which they call the orangery because they actually have two trees there in the room, but it was too warm in the sunshine.

I spoke with Simon and told him I was taking Trish to the British Museum. “If they want her as a specimen make sure you get a receipt,” he responded. I ignored his remark.

I finished my makeup and pulled my hair into a ponytail, if anything untoward happened, I needed to be able to move quickly to protect Trish and myself. James arrived and after he’d had a coffee and bacon sandwich the limo returned and we set off for the museum.

“What are you going there for?” James asked.

“To meet with someone.”

“Ooh, not a liaison dangerous?”

“Alas yes but not for the reasons you’re thinking about.”

“Madam, you cut me to the quick, as if I would be thinking such things.”

“Are you really gay, James?” asked Trish with contrived innocence.

He blushed. “Why d’you want to know?”

“’Cos you’re a good looking man and Auntie Stella could do with a good seeing to; or so Daddy said.”

I’d never seen James totally lost for words before and blushing like a heat lamp he spluttered before I intervened and changed the subject. “You are to stay close to me or James the whole time we’re out, do you understand?”

“Duh—I’m not a little kid, Mummy, I’m ten years old.”

“Yeah, well I’d like to see you make eleven.”

“With you protecting me I should be...oh, Allie was with you, wasn’t she?”

“Meaning?”

“You didn’t protect her very well, did you?”

Now I was blushing and close to tears.

“I think you need to apologise to your mum,” said James quietly.

“Well it’s true isn’t it?”

“Not quite,” said James. “Allie was engaged to protect your mother not the other way round.”

“Yeah, but she was killed and Mummy escaped with a couple of bruises.”

“We tried to look after each other, darling, Allie was unfortunate insofar as two men attacked her and only one went for me.”

“Did you knee him in the goolies, Mummy?”

“No, sweetheart, I kicked him.”

“Even better.”

“D’you mind?” asked James, “but I feel quite vulnerable with you two on about creaming people’s gonads.”

“Creamed gonads—yuck,” was Trish’s take on the situation. “Uh, Mummy, what are gonads?”

“The part of your sex organs that produce eggs or sperm.”

“Do I have any?”

“I’m afraid not, sweetheart.”

“That’s okay, at least no one can cream them now.”

“This is true,” I admitted.

“All you women think about is sex, isn’t it?”

“When we’re not shopping, you mean?” I fired back.

“I thought that was the ideal foreplay for a woman.”

“You know, I think you’re right.”

Moments later we pulled up outside the large building which is the British Museum and which has one of the greatest collections in the world including the controversial Elgin Marbles, which Greece would like back. As Elgin bought them, I’m not sure I’d agree with them but then I’m not Greek.

Inside the museum we strolled around looking at classical statues. "These men have no nadgers, Mummy, are they you-nots?"

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2617 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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The British Museum (picture courtesy of Wikipedia)
“What on earth is a you-not?” asked James as we strolled through the galleries.

“Someone with no nadgers,” said Trish smirking.

He paused for a moment then got her meaning. I wasn’t sure if she knew the word eunuch, it was probable, she just enjoyed mangling words and tormenting her audience. It was an indirect way of exerting control. I just about managed to stay one step ahead of her mostly guessing correctly the words she had really mangled from those where she was playing games.

I spotted Tatiana with Nikola and waved, she hurried over to meet us. James was now watching from nearby but pretending to be an ordinary punter. We found a small alcove with some seats being vacated by a family who sounded like they were German—at least that was what I thought they were speaking. Grabbing the seats quickly, Nikola’s mother explained what I was going to do. The child, about Trish’s age looked at me and said, “Angel,” and smiled. Trish smiled back at her and told her she would be all right.

“I told her you were angel,” explained Tatiana, “she happy for you to do cure.”

I nodded then closing my eyes began drawing down the blue energy. James had joked for me not to do the healing in the Ancient Egypt gallery as the mummies would get up and walk out before I’d finished. Trish giggled at that walking round pretending to be a zombie—not that I’d know one from his gait, or Trish’s attempts to do a Michael Jackson moonwalk. Now it was down to business.

I asked the energy to remain invisible to all but those who needed to see it. I could feel its movement but not see it and it was flooding into the young woman’s body at quite a lick. She exclaimed something in Russian and slumped into her mother’s arms. “Don’t worry,” I reassured her mother and placed my hands over her eyes and the back of her head. There was a horrible burning smell and the energy incinerated the tumours. The whole thing took about half an hour and we parted in the museum, me giving Tatiana instructions on how to deal with her. Basically, she would need to sleep for a few hours, have plenty of water to drink and then further rest. She would be back to her normal self in a day or so.

She called us back, “He knows where we are, we have transmitters implanted. If he sees you, he kill you for sure.”

“It might be more than his knickers which catch fire next time if he tries anything.” I’d scanned the youngish man who offered to help Tatiana and her child. Of course the police stood out like sore thumbs so did the Russian agents. James was on the case and one of the Russians, who presumably walked too close to him and got himself jabbed with a needle; he went out like a light.

We escaped a few minutes later, grabbing our coats and bags as we went. James followed discreetly, removing another agent with a little help from his set of syringes.

I don’t know if they even saw him and he walked briskly out from the main entrance and we hurried down the stairs at the front of the Palladian facade. A taxi was just dropping a fare so we commandeered it and set off for Charing Cross.

“This place brings back memories,” said James as we alighted from the cab.

“You didn’t have an operation, did you? Gasped Trish.

“Only to fix the bits your mother left undone.”

“But you told me you couldn’t do the operation with blue light?” she accused me.

“James hasn’t had that sort of operation, silly, he was somewhat perforated by a gang of hoodlums not too far from here and I helped keep him alive until the paramedics came.”

“Don’t believe a word of it, young Trish, I had so many holes in me that if they’d attempted to transfuse me, I’d have looked like a watering can.”

“Like they do in the cartoons?”

“Exactly like that. Your miracle mum managed to somehow plug them so that by the time the blue light brigade arrived I was still alive and hardly bleeding.”

“Did you ever get that awful gun back?”

“Oh yes, and it is well secreted somewhere.”

“It was a huge thing, Trish, it fired a bullet through the engine of the car and killed the driver. The noise was deafening, my ears were ringing for half an hour later.”

“Is that when you borrowed the Porsche?” asked Trish.

“Yes, its rightful owner was in hospital so didn’t exactly need it and it would have run up huge parking fines, besides I needed a lift home—so I borrowed it.”

We made our way up to high dependency, Sammi had been transferred there and had managed to persuade a nurse to send me a text. I had her phone, her iPad and a clean nightdress in my bag.

I sent Trish in while we spoke to the sister on the unit. She was carrying the new nightdress I’d bought a day or two before, when I got Trish a new one. I could hear Sammi oohing and ahing from the nurse’s station. I explained to the sister what the noises were all about and she rolled her eyes. “It’s just a nightdress, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Perhaps I’d better investigate,” she walked off to see Sammi.

“So a couple more days then?” said James repeating what the sister had said. Sammi was making a full recovery and doubtless Trish was shoving in some more of the blue stuff as we strolled up to Sammi’s bed in small private room.

We chatted and I handed over her hardware but reminded her she was on sick leave and not to contact the bank. “But who’s going to maintain the firewall?”

“It’s been done,” I said and Trish smirked.

“You’re not?”

Trish smirked and nodded.

“You didn’t?”

Trish nodded again.

“How could you?”

“You showed me a couple of weeks ago, you told me to hack it and I did, remember?”

“Yeah, well I had to leave one flaw in it so it had something to correct.”

“It didn’t, I had to do it yesterday.”

Sammi shook her head and wailed, “Noooo.”

“What’s the matter, darling?”

“The bank let her play with my toys.”

“She did a good job according to Gramps.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“I don’t want your job, silly.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah, I’m after Gramps’ job.” We all laughed at this but she might have been serious. We spent about an hour with Sammi who said she’d text as soon as she was coming home and I promised we’d collect her.

That was until we had a spot of bother leaving the hospital involving some more people with Russian accents.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2618 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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Charing Cross Hospital by Petr Broz (Wikipedia)

“So just exactly what did happen?” asked Henry, that little snitch, Trish, had dropped me in it again.

“I met up with the woman and her daughter, did the biz with the girl and we left.”

“That’s all is it?”

“More or less.”

“A little birdie tells me of suddenly collapsing Russian secret servicemen.”

“I suspect you’d need to speak to James about that, either that or my perfume was too strong for an enclosed space.”

“James is waiting in my office,” he fired back at me.

“So why are you asking me?”

“Because I’d like to hear your account of what happened.”

“At the museum?”

“I think we’ve done that, what about outside the hospital.”

“We went to see Sammi as you know, I had a new nightdress for her which the sister on the unit rather liked. While we were talking with Sammi, James got news that there was a hit squad on its way to kill her.”

“To kill Sammi?” he said sounding more than a little shocked.

“Yes, the source was a reliable one and the police were on their way when we spotted them outside the hospital—two men and woman.”

“How d’you know it was them—it could have been any group of people?”

“James recognised one from a picture sent to him by our informant. The man was an assassin. We suspect they recognised me.”

“You’re not exactly low-profile, Cathy, are you?”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I plead guilty, you’re a good looking woman with brains as well as beauty. I’m just so glad you allow us to use your image.”

“Sometimes I wonder why?”

“Because we help you fund good causes.”

“I suppose a million pounds a year does enable a few good things to be done.”

“If you ecologists came cheaper, we could do more.”

“These are professional scientists we’re talking about who earn peanuts compared to bankers and their bonuses. How often do you hear about six million pounds paid to an ecologist?”

“I know you don’t agree with banker’s bonuses but without them we’d not be able to recruit the best people.”

“Are they the best or the greediest?”

“They’re just highly motivated.”

“By greed.”

“What about the hospital encounter?”

“Oh that—one of them went to draw a firearm and James shot him, twice in the head.”

“This happened in front of Trish?”

“Unfortunately, but thankfully, she wasn’t looking that way when the bloke got shot. The woman decided to come at me waving this knife about to try and look menacing. Trish objected and flung her handbag at her, minus her phone which she then used to record what happened next.”

“I must see that.”

“The police have it.”

“Oh, so what did happen next?”

“Trish chucked her bag, the woman hesitated for a moment which gave me enough time to turn the tables on her. I grabbed her and disarmed her and we ended up trading a few blows.”

“Don’t tell me Trish filmed it?”

“All right, I won’t.”

“You won’t what?”

“Tell you that Trish filmed it.”

“I believe she also got a bit of James laying out the other guy.”

“But you took down the woman?”

“I suppose that would describe it. She went down and stayed there. She was far enough away from the knife, so we left it there. The police arrived and as they did Sammi sent me a text to say this guy was peering in through her door. I asked a copper to come with me and we caught the last of the gang waiting his chance to shoot Sammi with some sort of chemical gun containing insulin. It looked like an ordinary gun and as he drew it the copper thought he was drawing a conventional weapon and shot him dead on the spot.”

“Cathy, most people go to hospital to get better not worse.”

“I didn’t ask them to come out to play.”

“I don’t suppose you did, but you didn’t try to escape either, did you?”

“What and let them have a go at Sammi? Certainly not.”

“And you’re sure they were enemy agents?”

“They were Russian secret service operating outside their homeland so likely to be prosecuted as such.”

“They don’t seem to learn do they? I mean they’re supposed to be professionals and yet you killed two and captured the other two. How did you learn to do that?”

“Oh James had been teaching us a few new tricks—kicks, punches and throws which don’t require much strength so are suitable for women to do.”

“They obviously worked.”

“Uh—not quite, I just connected which of my hands and feet were closest to something that hurt. It certainly wasn’t practiced, but my elbow in her solar plexus stopped her for several minutes. She came round as the police arrived”

“How convenient.”

“Exactly what I thought. She accused me of attacking her, until Trish’s camera was shown with its film of the encounter.”

“How often has that happened now?”

“Three or four, but she carries it round to take pictures of any and everything.”

“She didn’t see the copper shoot the other guy in the hospital?”

“No, from what James said she was filming the size of the pool of blood from the one he shot.”

“A bit ghoulish.”

“More than a bit, Henry. If she continues in the same vein as a teenager, she could develop some very strange habits. It’s a little bit disturbing.”

“She does seem somewhat detached from these things.”

“I worry she’ll have nightmares but unless she feels directly threatened she doesn’t.”

“So a woman waving a knife about didn’t faze her?”

“She told me she had every confidence in me.”

“Nothing like blind faith.”

I was tempted to say it was neither blind nor faith as Trish doesnae believe in such things, but he might think I was taking the urine. I kept quiet.

“She’s very proud of her mum.”

“Not half as much as I was proud of her, not running about like a headless chicken like most kids would, but helping to distract the woman while I took her out of the fight.”

“Very mature of her.”

“She’s such a conundrum: she acts like a ten year old much of the time, then when required to step up to the plate, she delivers like a well rounded athlete.”

“Did the police get statements?”

“Yes at the hospital.”

“So that should be an end to one thing.”

“With Trish’s film, I hope so.”

“Me too, Cathy.”

“With the casualties they keep taking, you think they’d have picked up on the news to leave our bank alone by now.”

“Sometimes that just encourages them, I know the ambassador will be called into the Foreign Office to explain once again.”

“He’s the organiser.”

“Quite.”

“So what do we do about it?”

“Hope he gives up. The problem with Russians is their government tells such lies. They were the aggressors in Ukraine but they were told they were attacked by the EU and NATO. They keep saying the economy is becoming bankrupt because of sanctions against them. It forgets to say the sanctions are a direct result of their imperialist strategies and behaviour.”

“That seems to be the Russian way.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2619 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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“Have you seen this, Mummy?” Trish waved her iPad at me.

“What sweetheart?”

“Something Ricky Gervais tweeted.”

I can’t stand the man. “I doubt it would be of much interest to me, sweetie.”

“I think it will, Mummy.”

I took the iPad off her and was horrified to see a picture of blonde woman lying next to a dead giraffe she had just shot and killed with a bow. Gervais was equally horrified asking what possessed her to take a picture of herself lying alongside a beautiful wild animal and why had she killed it. It was obscene, but then I saw the woman’s name and I’m sure she posted a picture of herself with recently killed lions, not too long ago. She’s American, obviously wealthy and with no empathy for anything wild except that required to kill it. We have similar predatory, soulless beings in Britain and Europe as well. It’s funny if some people see something beautiful they need to kill or destroy it, even our other fellow primates don’t do that and we call them dumb animals. If there is any justice in this world, this blood thirsty woman will meet her end when some dumb animal turns the tables and eats her, though I suspect she probably has loads of people with guns protecting her while she indulges her sick pleasures. In which case her skills are minimal, anyone can shoot fish in a barrel.

I despise killing for pleasure as I see it as the activity of the psychopath, and there seem to be so many in this world. Fortunately it appears to be less common in women, but that could be a wrong impression.

I suppose the woman psychopath in the selfie would be just as condemnatory of me for being a weirdo in changing my gender, except the only things I’ve killed are insects who hit the front of my car and some people who were trying to kill me first. I like to think I’ve saved the lives of more than I caused to die. I hope it’s true or am I really no better than Rebecca Francis? I shuddered as this went through my mind.

“Trouble?” asked Henry.

“No, just thinking about this,” I handed him Trish’s iPad.

“How gross is that?” he gave it back to Trish, “Ugly human with beautiful animal.” It summed up my feeling too.

About an hour later, Simon phoned to say he was home and missing his wee wifey. I told him that the Lady Cameron was indisposed, trying to care for his daughter who’d been hurt trying to protect his bank. He was a little more conciliatory after that.

My phone peeped, I had a text from aforementioned injured offspring. ‘i can go home 2moro. Ypeee! Sam xxx’

If that was the case, it would be very good. Obviously our healing had helped to speed things up just a bit. I told Trish and she said she’d stay with her Gramps to keep the bank safe while Sammi was recuperating. I told her if Sammi could go home, we were all going home tomorrow. She didn’t quite storm off, but she definitely did more than breeze along.

While I was at the office I dealt with several matters including an outline strategy for the bank’s continued ecological path—albeit a wavering one. It appeared I was also the moral voice of the bank, though quite why, I didn’t know unless it was purely to enable the other directors to express their capitalistic tendencies with no inhibitions. I did warn Henry that I refused to be the bank’s apologist. He assured me I wasn’t. The expression on my face possibly showed I didn’t entirely believe him.

“You cut me to the core, Cathy.”

“I notice you didn’t say, heart.”

“Of course I didn’t, you’d know I was lying...”

“Because you’re a banker you don’t have one,” I said for him.

“Quite,” was his reply.

“Very funny.”

“Oh, was it?”

“No, it was anything but.”

“Oh,” the middle aged schoolboy looked crestfallen.

“It was too predictable, a bit like the Russians tend to be.”

“Unlike my granddaughter, apparently.”

“Which one?”

“You have so many you can’t remember which one you brought with you?”

“I have two in London at present if you recall.”

“This but one of them.”

“Trish, I suppose. Don’t tell me she’s bought out the stock exchange.”

“I won’t tell you—because it isn’t so. No, she offered to stay and look after the computer while you took Sammi home.”

“No, she comes home with us, she has school to attend once we know these bandits have been summoned back to Russia.”

“Did she mention the time bomb?”

“No, what time bomb?”

“She’s put one on the system.”
“Your system?” I was horrified.

“Our system, Cathy, collective ownership and responsibility.”

“Where is she?” I felt like rolling up my sleeves and giving her a hiding she wouldn’t forget.

“In the IT room.”

“Sammi’s room?”

“Yes.”

I followed him down to Sammi’s room where Trish was sat at her desk doing some work in a colouring book. “I want a word with you, Missy.”

“I’m in a meeting, if you leave a message with my secretary, I’ll try and get back to you fairly soon.”

“My office, now,” I said coldly.

She continued her colouring with barely a pause.

“I think you’d better, Trish, your mother is a director and if you disregard her, I’m afraid I’d have to sack you on the spot,” said Henry backing me up.

“’S not fair,” she said putting her pencil down. I led her back to my office and shut the door.

“Why shouldn’t I just send you home by Gramp’s limo this very moment?”

“The bank might not like tomorrow.”

“Because you added something nasty to their system?”

“I mighta done,” she said blushing.

“Do you realise for one moment how much damage that would do to the bank’s credibility. Do you hate Gramps and your dad so much that you want to cause them lots of pain and embarrassment. Do you despise me so much you want me to be forced to resign from my directorship here and the various projects the bank has helped me with, including Billie’s study centre? Finally, do you hate your sister so much that you can destroy in moments what she’s been doing for the past two years? If the answer is yes to any of those questions, I don’t think I want to see you again.”

She stood in front of me face like a beetroot and tears dribbling down her cheeks.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Miss Watts.”

“I’m Miss Cameron,” she said in between sobs.

“No you’re not, the Camerons have spent two hundred years building up and protecting the bank for you, a traitor to destroy it in an act of spitefulness which makes me so angry with you, I don’t think I ever want to see you again. I cannot believe one of my own children betrayed me.”

“Where shall I go?”

“That’s no longer my problem, mine will be getting a still recovering Sammi out of a hospital bed to try and sort your malevolence.”

“She won’t be able to find it.”

“I think you underestimate your sister’s ability with computing.”

“No I don’t, she’s quite good, but she won’t be able to find it.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m better ’an her.”

“Trish, Sammi has a master’s degree in cyber protection.”

“Don’t mean anything. She still won’t find it.”

“So that’s your last word is it?”

She shrugged.

I picked up my phone and pretended to dial. “Is that security, good. We have a child up here who no longer belongs here, please come and get her and show her off the premises. Take her? I really don’t care, once she’s out on the street she’s not my worry. Two minutes, thank you.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me would you?” she looked more shocked than sad.

“You have two minutes to stop me.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Take the time-bomb off the system—NOW.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2620 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 felt a degree of self-loathing. I’d reneged on a promise I made all the children, that they had a home with me as long as they wanted. This latest act by Trish took my breath away. If I’d understood it, she was jealous of the recognition Sammi had achieved and possibly being cleverer, she had put a nasty on the system that would cause the system to collapse or something similar. She might be a genius but her actions were that of a spoilt brat.

Trish stood looking at the floor with occasional peeps at me, but she couldn’t hold my gaze. “Well, what’s it to be?”

“What d’you mean?” tears were still running down her face.

“You now have ninety seconds to remove whatever you put on the bank’s system or face the consequences.”

“You promised me you’d never tell me to go.”

“You signed up as a member of a family but you’ve betrayed that family because you were jealous of Sammi. You can’t bear anyone to be better at anything than you, can you?”

“I can,” she said quietly, sniffing. “I’m sorry, Mummy.” She started to sob and my heart was splitting. There was no way I’d throw her out but I had to make her think I could, this was tough love. I had to be tough or she would be totally uncontrollable in a couple of years. Effectively, I was trying to save her from herself.

“How do I know I can believe you, you lied to me before.”

“I love you, Mummy,” she sobbed and held out her arms for me to hug her.

“Prove it, remove your bug.”

“There isn’t one,” she sobbed and threw herself down on the office floor. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed and snorted lying on the floor. “I just wanted to be important, like Sammi is.”

“The man who crashed the aeroplane into a mountain a month ago said he wanted people to remember him. He killed nearly four hundred people, so the families of those he murdered will remember him and curse him every day of their lives. He was important for five minutes. Is that how you want to be?”

“He killed all those people?” she gasped.

“Yes, he deliberately crashed an airliner into a mountain with lots of innocent people on board including his colleagues from the airline, mothers and their babies, other children—none of whom had ever done him any harm.”

“But why?”

“Because he could and wanted to show he could.”

“That’s sick, like that woman killing the giraffe.”

“Much sicker, I’m afraid—but it happened.”

“Those poor people,” she said and burst into tears again.

“Yes, poor people.” I paused to let her reflect on what I’d told her. “Is that what you want to be—important like that pilot?”

“No,” she said quietly shaking her head.

“So there is no bug, which is why Sammi wouldn’t have been able to find it?”

She nodded.

“Would you have told me before tomorrow?”

“Probably.”

“Get up and go and wash your face,” I pointed to my personal toilet and washbasin in a little room off my office—the perk of being a director. She slowly did as I instructed. While she was washing her face I phoned Henry’s office and asked if he could see us as Trish had something to say to him. His secretary said he was frantically trying to get a cyber protection expert at short notice. I told her he didn’t need one. She told me to come straight up.

Trish emerged from my private bathroom. “We’re going to see Gramps and you’re going to tell him the truth and ask him to forgive you.”

She nodded and the tears started again. I handed her a tissue and pointed at the door. The lift took ages to go up to Henry’s floor, and the walk felt like I was leading the condemned to the gallows. I needed her to remember how unpleasant it all felt to try and stop ever playing games like this again.

We were told to go straight through to his suite and I made Trish knock on his door and go through before I followed. I made her stay a distance from him as her first instinct was to run to him and have a hug. He sat impassively behind his large desk. “You have something to tell me,” said coldly to her.

“Yes, Gramps. I’m sorry, Gramps, I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” She fell to her knees sobbing. I was close to tears myself but had to stand firm. She had to learn this lesson, I knew Henry probably felt as choked as I did.

“Tell Gramps what you told me,” I prompted her.

It took her several seconds to compose herself enough to be able to speak coherently. “There is no time-bomb, Gramps. I told you a fib.”

“I know.” She looked astonished, I know I did. “You see, I had everything checked you did, including removing the time-bomb you sent to some hackers.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Trish, you might be very clever for a ten year old, but you are ten years old. This bank is two hundred years old, we have a reputation to uphold and much as I love and admire your cleverness, you are still a child and I can’t risk the reputation of this bank, my reputation and that of other members of this family like your father and your mother on the actions of a ten year old girl. It would be unforgiveable if something went wrong because of it. So I had someone check everything you did. I didn’t tell you before because I know how important it is to you to act like a grown up, I even agreed to pay you for what you thought you were doing. In actual fact you were playing with a dummy system your sister created to train our staff. You didn’t spot it as a dummy—so I think you have a little way to go to catch Sammi. With computers, she really is something special.

“I’m afraid because you tried to deceive me, I going to have to sack you as my temporary cyber protection consultant. Working for your family requires a degree of trust and I’m afraid you broke that.”

“I’m sorry, Gramps, will you forgive me?” she managed to get out before she burst into tears again.

“I will on two conditions.”

She nodded.

“First you never try anything like this ever again with anyone.”

She nodded and said she wouldn’t.

“Second, you come over here where I can see you.” She rose on wobbly legs and walked round his desk. “And give me the biggest hug you’ve ever given anyone.”

She paused processing what she thought he’d said, then flung herself at him and sobbed all over him. I had to look away or I’d be crying with them.

“I think you owe your mother an apology too, don’t you?” Henry said quietly to her and she nodded and walked over to me.

“I really am sorry that I let you down, Mummy. Will you forgive me?”

I waited for a moment as much to stop myself weeping as much as for dramatic effect. “If you promise me with all your heart to never do anything like this ever again, then yes, I forgive you.”

“You won’t make me leave?” she said loudly enough for Henry to give me a very old fashioned look.

“No, darling, I promise never to do that as long as you keep your word.”

“I will, Mummy, I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” I said as I wrapped my arms round her and felt a moisture in my eyes.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2621 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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Later that evening we had a visitor, a man from the Foreign and Commonwealth Office who told us that the Russian government had recalled the ambassador for instructions—diplomatic speak for to carpet him. This chap also thought all his gang of thugs had been recalled too.

“But the government were responsible for what had happened not just the ambassador.”

“Yes but if his task was to kill or kidnap someone, he failed. They don’t do failure.”

“What about his wife and daughter?”

“This is hush hush, but they’ve applied for asylum here.”

“He used to knock her about, didn’t he?”

“You asking me or telling me?”

“Bit of both.”

“I think so.”

“I can’t tolerate men who hit women.”

“Lady Cameron, I think these days most people would agree with you, in this country anyway; although there is too much domestic violence still.”

“What is it, one woman a week is killed by domestic violence.”

“Something like that, I believe,” he agreed with me.

“Welcome to the twenty first century where people still believe in Father Christmas and the physical intimidation of half the population by the other.”

“My daughter in law is a feminist,” said Henry, “but it’s a view I share.”

“Good for you, Gramps,” offered a certain small person.

The man from the F.O. gave her an astonished look but potentially being in a minority of one kept his opinions to himself. After a moment’s reflection he added quietly, “Having worked in countries where the Taliban held sway, I think I prefer your ideology.”

“So we should be free from the attacks we’ve suffered recently?” I tried to clarify.

“Naturally I can’t guarantee it, but yes you should be safer.”

“Does that mean we won’t need bodyguards?”

“I don’t think I could comment that directly.”

“I think for the moment, the bank will cover the costs of James and his friends until we know for certain the threat has receded.” Henry seemed to think it was better to take precautions for the present.

I wondered about Tatiana and Nikola and how safe they would be given their defection from her husband might be seen as an insult and he didn’t strike me as someone who’d take that without some form of revenge, which with his record of violence against one if not both of them meant they were at some risk.

I asked the civil servant if they’d be safe as I was concerned for them.

“The mother has requested asylum here but may be looking to live abroad somewhere. As all of this is very confidential and her safety together with her daughter’s is paramount, I can’t say more. But they are in a safe house at the moment until more permanent arrangements are possible.”

I thanked him and soon after he left, Trish asked, “You weren’t going to invite them to live with us, were you?”

“Uh—no, I was just concerned for them.”

“Pity, I coulda learned Russian.”

“I think that would be possible via more conventional channels.”

“What, school?”

“Yes,” for what they charge every term.

The next morning, Sammi was discharged to my care and we collected her in my Jaguar with James sitting in as navigator and shotgun—he actually had one by the side of his seat, a pump action one. The drive home was uneventful and it was good to see all the others who nearly hugged us to death.

Simon and I had a hug and a kiss and the rest of them applauded to try and embarrass us. I blushed, but we kept on kissing just to annoy them. Stella and Tom with help from our two housekeepers and David had kept everyone well and Chas and Dave had kept the bogey men away.

As we sat down for a late lunch Mima came up to me and said quietly, “I’m gwad you home, Mummy, I missed you wots.”

We had a little hug and I replied, “I’ve missed you lots, too.” She pecked me on the cheek and went off satisfied. Cate came and hugged my leg like a randy Labrador, she’d missed me too. Lizzie, it seemed hadn’t quite so much but her Auntie Phoebe had been spending extra time with her which I was pleased to see.

Julie and Phoebe had continued to run their business despite the risks, closing just one day when Simon was kidnapped. I wasn’t sure how I felt about their courage but then I’ve done some pretty dumb things myself, so such defiance may run in both the family and our culture. Some of it might well be caused by a reaction to a period of bullying in school and of deciding to fight back by refusing to stop acting normally and going about one’s business. As it happened they were okay and the Russians were looking for bigger targets like Simon, Henry and myself, who are directors of the bank and Sammi who works for it.

She went off to rest after lunch and when I went to see how she was an hour later, she was at her computer redesigning the firewall and guess who was up with her? I hoped this time to learn not to try and sabotage her big sister’s career.

It was interesting that on the drive home, they were sitting in the back of the car together and Trish apologised to her sister for being jealous of her and her computer skills. It was something she did without any prompting from me or anyone else, as far as I knew, and something which gave me hope for her in the future.

Sammi was gracious in her response and they both hugged. James saw me smiling as we listened to them talking and he winked at me, smiling as well. Whether he put two and two together or knew the whole story I don’t know but his reaction was a good one.

I spent the remainder of the day in my study dealing with emails from Delia and told her I’d be in the next day. She reported that Tom had helped her with anything she wasn’t sure about, so there wasn’t quite as much paperwork as I might expect.

Another of my emails was from Erin. My harvest mouse film had been shown on Easter Monday and I’d been too busy to take much notice of it. The critics had once again been kind and it was considered as good as my dormouse film. Alan was delighted and sent me an email saying that the BBC were considering one on red squirrels next, was I interested. Erin had sent a similar one. Part of me thought, if Brian Cox can do whole series of programmes, then I should be able to as well, but I suspect I have more children to look after so my time was in less supply.

In the end I replied that I was quite interested in doing a film on Tufty especially as we could do some of the filming on Brownsea Island which is in Poole harbour and thus not too far away.

Tom had kept me some press cuttings, one of the nicest was being considered the Bettany Hughes of Natural History. To be compared with one of my heroines was praise enough for me, especially as she is another academic turned film maker/ presenter, who specialises in programmes about women in history. Considering women make up half the human population of the planet, it’s perhaps unfortunate that most of the history we see on television or read about relates to what men do or have done. The women are in a supporting role with a few exceptions like Elizabeth I of England, or Catherine the Great of Russia, Boudicca or Florence Nightingale; I was pleased that the balance was being slowly redressed a little by presenters like Hughes, who remind us that women can rise to the occasion too, when given the chance. A message I strongly support.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2622 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 really enjoyed your programme on the harvest mouse,” said Delia as I entered the office.

“Thank you, you didn’t perchance tape it, did you?”

“I think it’s still on iPlayer.”

“Oh okay, I’ll try and look later, I haven’t seen what the BBC did to it.”

“You mean it isn’t as you submitted it to them?”

“No, they have the right to alter anything they show to meet with their standards and so on. It’s a coverall to enable them to meddle if they wish. None of it was controversial so they shouldn’t have needed to touch it, but I’d be surprised if they didn’t tweak it here and there. They did with Dormouse.”

“But you know more about mice than they do.”

“They know more about their audiences than I do, so unless they mess it about willy-nilly, I have to accept they have some idea of what they’re about. They’ve been doing it longer than I have after all.”

“Anyway, I really liked it, are you going to wear those shorts to work in the summer?”

“I think it’s unlikely,” I blushed and she smirked. It was the same pair I wore in making Dormouse, so I thought it gave consistency plus both Erin and Alan insisted I wore them to keep my audience happy—mostly middle-aged men with daughters my age. I don’t usually wear eye makeup when doing fieldwork but did for the film, so one has to adapt to the medium being used.

Bringing me a cup of tea she asked how Simon and Sammi were and I was able to report that both were well on the mend and hopefully going back to work next week. After the short break while we drank tea, ate a biscuit or two and discussed the paperwork she’d received, I plunged into the pile on my desk and by lunchtime had reduced it to just one or two items about which I needed to speak with Daddy as I wasn’t involved in their origins and knew nothing about them.

We were as yet without a new Vice Chancellor and Delia told me that according to the bush telegraph I was seen as a king maker as well as causing the vacation of the previous incumbent, which was untrue; illness had caused Gascoyne to resign not pressure from me—though if that happened I might well have tried to force his hand.

I had caused ructions on the council of the university which was effectively its management board and behind the scenes had managed to get Tom to take the chairman’s job, he agreed if I was prepared to be secretary. I declined but said I was prepared to act as Vice Chair as I was too busy to take anything other than a supporting role. He pointed out that I’d almost singlehandedly overthrown the previous council. I simply told him that I wouldn’t do so again if he didn’t annoy me.

Lunch time I sat watching Harvest Mouse on BBC iPlayer while eating a tuna baguette Delia had fetched for me from the refectory. Then deciding that the Beeb hadn’t done anything radical to my film I went for a brisk ten minute walk around the campus—it’s so easy just to sit at a desk and get no exercise whatsoever, that I felt I needed to get some fresh air and stretch my legs for a few minutes.

While wandering I popped in to say hello to Pippa then had to almost run back to my office to take some calls from a couple of universities regarding the data from the survey.

Before the proverbial had hit the atmospheric oscillator I’d engaged two people to input data from the survey onto one computer programme. They had reams of the stuff. The object was to enable our contributors to access the who survey data but it was currently members only to protect the database.

A university in Paris was doing something similar to us compiling the French data but we were all interlinked to enable oversight by each of the twenty odd countries involved to ensure consistency. The British data was the largest so far collected and they were all using my system of collection and analysis, there was also an agreed opportunity for each member country to then use the data as it required and also to be able to compare it with other countries or the total to produce statistics about future conservation as necessary. At least that was the intention.

A badger charity called me to request data on badger populations, which I was unable to give them because we didn’t collect numbers, it would need to be guessed from distribution figures which was what we were collecting. I’d already spoken out against the recent badger cull, as had many scientists, some with better qualifications than I had re badgers. I’m a mammal ecologist by inclination and training so can claim some authority on mammals and I hoped I was listened to with respect—except by government, but as they didn’t want to annoy one of the banks that loaned them money in quite large quantities, and with which I had some influence, they tended to leave me alone or tolerate my grumbles about lack of protection for different species.

The problem with things like dormice and harvest mice is the destruction of habitat by human activity such as farming. I’m happy for farmers to make a reasonable living but that should include a respect for the land and its inhabitants. Sadly, as small farms become less viable and the agribusiness buys them out, out come the hedgerows and woodland—unless they do shooting of pheasants, in which case bits of woodland are left for them to roost in. We need to educate farmers that things like water voles, harvest mice, dormice and several other species are indicators of how healthy their land is, which could well be a selling feature of crops they produce. We also need an environmental body which has the teeth to bite offenders who damage SSSIs deliberately and which rewards those who encourage wildlife.

Wild deer in the UK vary depending upon where you are, but I’m sure there are thousands of people living in cities who’ve never seen a wild one except on film. I’m grateful that I’ve seen red deer, roe deer, fallow deer, sika deer and Reeves muntjac, in fact it’s only Chinese water deer that I haven’t seen of the six species we have in the UK of which only red and roe deer are actually native. The Deer Society have been of inestimable use in helping us survey deer species and they did their own one a few years ago.

“Are your children back in school?” asked Delia as I cleared the last bit of paperwork.

“Yes, why?”

“You have ten minutes to go and collect them.”

I looked at my watch and gasped. She was absolutely right. I switched off my laptop and shoved it in my bag, grabbed my handbag and jacket, and thanking her for reminding me, rushed off to collect a cart load of monkeys from St Claire’s.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2623 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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“Reading are playing Arsenal,” announced Danni.

“Is there some special significance to this event?” I asked, we were driving home from school.

“FA cup semi-finals.”

“Is that important?” I wasn’t really listening to her answers.

“Well yes,” she said with both her volume and pitch rising. The others sniggered. “Whoever wins it is in the FA cup final.”

“And you want Reading to win?”

“Well yes, we went there with the England squad if you remember.”

“Oh I remember okay. So if you’d met Arsene Wenger or whatever he’s called, you’d be supporting Arsenal?”

“Maybe, but the Reading people were so nice to us.”

“Fine. Are Chelsea still in it?”

“No but they’re playing Man United in the league. Aston Villa meet Liverpool in the other semi final.”

“Pity we didn’t know earlier, Daddy might have been able to scrounge a couple of tickets.”

“I wish you hadn’t told me that, I was content to watch it on TV now I’ll wish I was there.”

“Sorry.” I was, okay she did get lots of my time and attention when she played for England schoolgirls but since then she hasn’t. Perhaps I’ll take her shopping at the weekend, have to speak to her quietly about it or they’ll all want to come.

The weather had turned unexpectedly warm and I’d liked to have got a ride in, I suppose I could ask Danielle that, she enjoys a good bike ride. That’s what I did. David said we had an hour before dinner—could get in a quick ten miler, better than nothing. I spoke quietly with Danni who didn’t need asking twice, she flew up to her room to change. I did similar and we were out and on the bikes before anyone knew we’d gone, except David.

We managed twelve miles before I decided we should get home, so that was another two miles. I was so unfit that Danni stayed with me and at one point challenged and nearly beat me. I barely managed to stay ahead and was grateful that she was blowing as hard as I was. Football obviously uses different muscles.

Once home, she went off to change and I dealt with a vociferous group of protesters who were complaining that they hadn’t been asked. I told them it was a last minute decision, which meant nothing but they accepted it. I wrote down my mileage which was poor to pathetic but part excused myself by recognising I had several other distractions these days not least Simon and Sammi in hospital.

The girls wanted to do a ride the next day, so I said I’d think about it. Danni was playing soccer on the Sunday for Portsmouth and I promised I’d go to watch. The girls said they’d come too. I was aware that had the recent threat not have been declared over (for the time being), it wouldn’t have been possible, and it would have been quite likely Danni would have been deemed at too great a risk to be allowed to play, despite being their star player. I wasn’t even sure she’d had a chance to train, but she had.

Saturday was a day of catching up on chores in the morning and taking the girls for a ride in the afternoon after getting the washing in which was dry. I know I had two housekeepers who were supposed to do all this, but part of me enjoyed being a wife and a mother again for a few hours. We did about five miles on the bikes before Trish and Meems had had enough. Livvie had only come because the others had but she didn’t complain once—not that I heard at any rate.

I got back to find an email with picture of what was a dormouse. The site was a new one in Hampshire and I was asked to check it out or mark it as real or a hoax—it was amazing how many of those we had. I showed Tom the email and he told me I was the acting head of the survey and it was my call.

Stella wondered if it was a set up to either kill or capture me. The idea hadn’t even entered my consciousness, so I decided to send a couple of experienced students to check it out next week. Tom agreed it was the best idea, I felt that I was betraying my students. He didn’t think so especially if I warned them first. I suggested that would just add to our liabilities if he was wrong, so in the end I did nothing. Inertia, seemed a good way of weight control but ineffectual compared to a proper diet, I suspect other plans were quickly being readjusted to suit the weather.

Sunday arrived with a cool breeze I went down at half past seven to start getting breakfast. I took Lizzie and Cate down with me and gave them some cereal. Before I’d finished Trish and Livvie were down but Meems had gone for a cwtch with her daddy. She’s much more of a daddy’s girl than any of the others.

I had breakfast with the two brainboxes and we were just finishing when Julie and Sammi came down. Sammi was working on some software for the bank and was saying she was half thinking of going back to work the next day. The doctor had suggested another week and I agreed with him, she had been very ill but she'd said she felt better and had work to do. Some of it was defiance of people who were determined to try and stop her, or were until they were called off. I could see myself making a similar decision so I kept quiet.

Danni was pretty well last to appear, even Stella and her two had been, eaten and gone. “You all right, sweetheart?” I asked her almost casually.

“Dunno,” she said in response.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“Just a cuppa, please, Mum.”

“You need something to eat, especially if you’re going to be rushing round this afternoon.”

“Dunno if I’m going yet.”

“Why ever not?”

“Don’t really feel like it.”

“This is football we’re talking about?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “association rules.”

“And you don’t feel like playing?”

“Not really, I watched yesterday’s match and after hearing Liv sum it up as two lots of fully grown men chasing a piece of leather and being paid outrageous money to do it.”

This wasn’t too far from my own feelings for it but I wasn’t going to air them in front of someone who was wrestling with their conscience. “What will the others say if you don’t turn up?” I was aware she was their best player by far.

“Dunno, but they’ll get over it.”

“Hardly the spirit of teamwork is it?”

“What do I care, if that gang of thugs was still about I could claim I was frightened.”

“But you went training despite that?”

“So? A girls gotta keep fit.”

“Hadn’t you better let them know?”

“Will you phone for me, Mum?”

“No, you can do your own dirty work.”

“Aww, Mum...” she grumbled but I wasn’t going to help her welch on her deal.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2624 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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“Oh all right, I’ll come in then—just an upset tummy. Yes I know it’s important—all right, I said I would.” She switched the phone off.

“I take it you’re going?”

“Yeah but only because they were desperate.” I didn’t try to complicate matters further so let the matter drop.

She allowed me to cajole her into eating a bacon sandwich, which was fatal because half of Portsmouth appeared to want one as well. By the time we’d finished pretty well everyone in the house had a bacon sarnie, including me—it was delicious.

Afterwards we went up to change and I asked her what was really going on. “Nuthin’,” she said blushing.

“Sorry, kiddo, but I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Is it?”

She sat on the bed for a moment looking at the pair of shoes across the room from her. “No it isn’t.”

“So what is, the truth, I mean?”

“It was Sara Redfern.”

“What about Miss Redfern?” If she was anything like her father, it would mean that she could be quite persuasive assisted by money or threats. He was a Tory counsellor and business magnate.

“She said that girls who like playing physical sports are like boys and probably lesbians.”

“So just because some stupid and spiteful girls says so, you’re prepared to give up an England career?”

“Well I can’t afford to have them look me over with a tooth comb, can I?

“Why not? You look fine unless they do DNA from a mouth swab or look for periods or a womb.”

“What if the girls in school suspect something—I’d kill myself.”

“Wouldn’t that just confirm things?”

“It wouldn’t matter, I’d be dead.”

“It would to those of us left behind.”

“You’d get over it.”

“How dare you assume anysuch a thing?” I snapped angrily.

“Well you would in time.”

“Why would I?”

“People do.”

“That sounds like you haven’t had much experience of loss.”

“Only Billie, but that was bad enough.”

“I’m sure it was, kiddo, we all suffered but spare a thought for the rest of us. How d’you think I’d feel losing two children, especially to one of a suicide?”

“Wouldn’t be my problem, would it? I’d be dead.”

“If you succeeded, some don’t and you could be paralysed for the rest of what could be a very long life.”

“You don’t hear much about those.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t happen, remember absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.”

“I know, I know, but it could be.”

That was perfectly true but unlikely. “So you’re going to give up the thing which gives you most pleasure or kill yourself because of what a bully-girl says? I can’t believe it.”

“Why? Didn’t you do things to avoid the finger being pointed at you?”

I quickly scanned my data banks, I didn’t have any such memory but that might have been selective amnesia on my part. I suppose denying my femininity while at school could be considered avoidance strategy, though I didn’t deny it to myself where it probably grew almost daily until it became a truth in my eyes. Is this how delusions grow and was my whole being founded on such a delusion?

“Well did you?” demanded Danni disrupting my thoughts.

“Did I what?” I asked forgetting the question.

“Did you do things to avoid having people point a finger at you as being different?”

“I can’t remember, sweetheart. Look I’m not trying to criticise you, I’m trying to point out that you don’t have to give in to these bullies, because that’s all they are.”

“That’s all right for you to say,” she said tears beginning to form.

“Let me ask you a question?”

She nodded her assent.

“What was your finest moment—from the whole of your life so far?”

“Playing for England.”

“Would you rate that above fitting in to the standards set by a group of stupid bully girls?”

She nodded tears running down her face, “Yes,” she said quietly.

“You fought hard for that place, you’ll have to fight even harder to keep it—won’t you?”

She nodded.

“I presume you’d like to wear an England shirt again?”

“Yes. Yes, I would, Mummy.”

“So, are you playing today?”

She delicately wiped her eyes so as not to mess her mascara, like any other teen girl, “Yes, Mummy, I’m playing today and I don’t care if they call me a lezzie or a boy, I’m going to play for England again which is more than they ever will—stupid cows.”

Okay, I know, I manipulated her thinking. I know what her values are and while it’s difficult for teens who are seen as different—been there got the scars to prove it—it’s also important to see the main goals in life. Playing for England was her raison d’être not many weeks ago when she was so unsure if she wanted to be a girl—though the longer she spends in the role the more female she becomes. Wiping her eyes just now—a boy wouldn’t do it like that, he just wouldn’t think of it—a girl would. She’s more of a girl than she realises. I can’t say anything in case it makes her think differently. For all I know she still hankers after eventually becoming a boy again once her football career is over. I hope not because she’s becoming really quite shapely, so her response to oestrogen has been very positive.

She came down wearing a sweat shirt and jogging bottoms for ease of getting changed. I made the girls change into warmer clothing and then we all clambered into my Jaguar and set off for the football match.

The team coach gave her a piece of his mind for messing him about. I took him to one side and explained the pressure she was under from some of the girls at school. He wasn’t impressed declaring that if she didn’t have the ego strength to deal with it she’d lose her place in his team and the England place would fall as well.

I felt very angry and told him that she was his best player and if he didn’t stop talking through his arse, I’d offer her to Southampton or even Reading, who’d both jump at the chance to have her.

He almost dared me to do so, until I qualified, “Because your abuse of her has driven her away, which would almost certainly cause an investigation into his methods.”

“I’ve nothing to hide,” he brazened.

“Certainly not brain cells,” I chided. “You’ve bullied your star player which means they’d only have to question some of your lesser players and one or two will say you bullied them too. As soon as they do, you’re history.”

“You always so nasty?”

“Me, nasty? Not at all unless some arsehole threatens my children, then I don’t get nasty, I simply eliminate the irritant.”

He looked at me with a mixture of contempt and fear. I wasn’t joking and he knew it.

Danni did play and scored both goals—she has enormous talent, my job is to give her the best chance to develop it. The coach’s job is to develop it. We don’t like each other but we both know we have someone special we have to encourage and protect.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2625 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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When we got home Simon emerged from my study we hugged and kissed momentarily. “How’d it go?”

“We won two nil.”

“Oh good.”

“Danielle scored both.”

“Great, I think this calls for celebration.”

“What, Danni scoring goals?”

“How many has she scored now?”

“I’m not sure ten or a dozen, I think.”

“For part of a season, that’s pretty good going. So we’re going out to celebrate.”

It would save David having to cook unless he’s already started. Hang on, he was noticeable by his absence from the kitchen. “What about David?”

“What about him? I gave him the afternoon off.”

That’s my job not his. I felt like telling him but decided it wasn’t worth the aggro. “Pity you couldn’t make it to the match, she played really well—she’s a class act on a football pitch.”

“The meeting seemed interminable—but on a Sunday, they always do.”

“For the size of the bonus you get, darling, most people would work the odd Sunday.”

“More fool them then. Go and change.”

I sighed but went upstairs, showered and washed my hair—it would save time tomorrow, theoretically if not actually. I was doing my makeup when Trish and Livvie ran in to ask me to do her hair. I plaited it and she went off happy, I did the same for Livvie who was equally pleased. Meems appeared as was choosing some earrings and I had to plait her hair as well.

It turned out that Henry was at the new hotel on Hayling Island and wanted to show it off to us. He’d spoken with Simon and had agreed to send a minibus for us. I finished off my grooming and went to see if any of the older girls were coming. Sammi was, Julie and Phoebe decided they didn’t want to come and offered to sit Lizzie for me. They also agreed that they’d keep an eye on Kiki if Tom was coming with us. I really didn’t know.

A few moment’s enquiry and I discovered that not only was he coming but also he’d have understood about my explanation regarding it as an art form. We were almost ready to go, when Phoebe took me to one side and said, “Mummy, are you planning on adopting Lizzie at some point?”

Taken aback I didn’t have much time to think about it. “I hadn’t given it much thought recently. What d’you think about it, you’re her closest relative?”

“I think it would be a good idea and I know Neal and Glo would have approved it.”

“Okay, when I’ve got a few minutes I’ll speak to the solicitor, Mr Henstridge, about it, until then we’re her foster parents as you know. Why did you raise the matter?”

“She’s only in foster care with you, they could take her away at the drop of a hat. If you formally adopted her, they couldn’t and I’d feel happier.”

I hoped that was the reason but I’d give Henstridge a ring when I was in work next week and get him to make enquiries. “I’ll speak to the solicitor next week.”

“Thank you, Mummy.” We hugged and I noticed she was shivering slightly.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Yeah, I just don’t want to lose her.”

“I don’t think that will happen.”

The minibus arrived and we had to curtail the conversation but it left me feeling there was something she hadn’t told me. No evidence, just a feeling. I dismissed it and started to marshal the girls to hurry the process of boarding the bus.

Sammi, Jacquie and Trish sat at the back of the bus all gabbling on about something electronic or other, Livvie and Meems sat near me and chattered incessantly and Danielle sat with her dad and they talked about football. Cate sat jabbering with Fiona while Puddin’ sat on Stella’s lap and talked to her mum. I was glad we had the bus, it would easily have taken three or four cars to get everyone on board. I looked around for Tom and he was sitting near the driver and they chatted as we went.

The new hotel had been recently refurbished, the bank had spent millions on it and it was our first viewing of the refurbishment. Henry and Monica were there as owners seeing what it was like to stay in and now we were all part of a test to see how they dealt with small parties.

The hotel management were as obsequious as the other place in Southsea. Whether they knew us or recognised the bus, I’ve no idea but they certainly knew us. Eventually we were delivered to the main dining room where Henry and Monica gave us an enthusiastic welcome. “Nice place you have here,” I dropped.

“Thank you, Lady Cameron,” said the Countess of Stanebury.

“You’re welcome,” I smiled. Fortunately,Livvie squeezed her way in between us before Monica could make any moves on me.

“What are you reading, to day, young lady?” Monica spoke to Danielle.

“Wuthering Wotsits,” said an uninterested teen.

“Seriously? The book by Anne Bronte?”

“Yes, Heathcliff and all that.” If she broke into Kate Bush’s interpretation, I’d kill her and toss her body off the bus.

We had a very pleasant repast, not as good as the other place nor as good as my home. David seems to know what I’m going say before I say it, spooky or what. However this time he got it wrong, or did he? He missed out on a free meal but then again, did he?”

It was a nice meal and i didn’t have to do the washing up, I didn’t even have to pay by doing the washing up for the next thirty years as we were Henry’s guests. Eventually, I was able to slip outside for a breath of air without Monica following me. The sun was shining but there was a brisk breeze of a cool nature. I managed to find a sunny spot sheltered from the wind and just sat and closed my eyes. In two or three minutes I suspect I was asleep. It took them a while to notice I was missing and a further hour to find me, by which time the sun had become far more hazy and I woke because I was getting cold.

“Are we that bad company?” asked a disappointed Henry.

“Not at all, pa in law, I just couldn’t stay awake and dropped off.”

“So I hear, well the rest of your family had a quick shufty over the place and seem very impressed.”

“I’m sure they are, it’s been very sensitively done,” as soon as I felt these words leave my mouth his chest began to swell with pride.

“Why thank you, Cathy. Did I tell you, you were my favourite daughter in law?”

“I think I may be the only one—officially any way.”

“Hush, don’t let them all know about the others,” he joked with me. “Your footballing daughter is something of a revelation. I knew she was good, but brilliant seems to be more apposite.”

“She’s a very talented young lady.”

“Remember, she’s now an England schoolgirl cap.”

“Not bad for a scrawny boy,” he said very quietly.

“She’s certainly not a scrawny girl,” I observed.

“Quite,” agreed Henry.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2626 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 was more awake going home in the bus than I’d been coming to Hayling Island so my mind was able to consider what Phoebe had been on about and why the shivering while she spoke to me about Lizzie? I had no immediate answers, nothing came to mind, so what wasn’t she telling me? I’d speak to Julie when we got home, if anyone knew, she would.

Phoebe had finished her course at Easter, having done some extra things like electrolysis and laser therapy for hair removal. I was fortunate that I’d never needed such depilation apart from my legs and that was relatively light and fair. I got by with waxing or shaving what was there. Phoebe had offered me electrolysis but I didn’t fancy hot needles in my follicles, so I graciously declined. Danielle had her eyebrows shaped before I got to hear of it so I couldn’t say very much, though it either showed she had little idea of consequences or wasn’t planning on revisiting masculinity anytime soon.

The younger girls had been whispering about someone called Paul and she blushed and threatened them whenever they mentioned the name, so I began to think she must have an admirer. It wasn’t something I had a problem with as she’d begun to look very different from her old self since growing her hair and colouring it, the effects of hormones on her face and body, softening both and changing her demeanour quite a lot. As a boy she’d become defensive about so many things but as a girl, since surgery and her subsequent adaption to it, she’d become much more open and approachable and until her younger sisters teased her about this boy, quite good natured.

When I’d spoken to her about Cindy, she saw her most days in school and they were still friends, but not as close friends. Part of me wondered why—had they just moved on, or did Danielle see herself as more of a girl than her friend? I was never quite sure and I certainly couldn’t ask her. Her enthusiasm for our sewing bee, waned, Danielle’s, that is, Cindy would have continued but her mother changed her job and getting here was more difficult.

At home, we discovered Phoebe had put little Lizzie to bed by the time we arrived back from the hotel. I did the same with Cate soon after and told the others to do any homework as they’d be going in an hour.

Julie was in the utility room doing a load of towels from the salon so I slipped in and shut the door and began helping her to fold them as she took them out of the tumble drier. “Pheebs asked me about adopting Lizzie.”

“Yeah, she said she would.” Julie continued with her laundry.

“Any reason why she’s brought it up now?”

“Look, we’re thinking of expanding and moving to larger premises.”

“Can you afford to?”

“If we don’t we’re going to stagnate. I want another stylist and Phoebe wants to concentrate on the beauty side of things. We’re thinking of moving closer to the town centre.”

“Is that going to cost more rent and rates?”

“Yeah, we’ve been working on a business plan which we think might work.”

“Show it to your dad, he’s the expert.”

“Except he’ll think we’re trying to tap him for some capital.”

“Won’t you be?”

“Yeah, but not at this stage.”

“Want me to look it over?”

“What for—uh, sorry didn’t mean it sound like that.”

“That’s okay, I’m only your dumb mother who knows nothing about finance or business plans other than controlling a budget of a million or two for a university department and a staff of thirty five people.”

“Sorry, Mummy, I didn’t mean it like that, I meant—you’re hardly a commercial concern are you?”

“My department generates between seventy five and one hundred and twenty thousand pounds every year by selling services to other bodies.”

“Like councils?”

“Partly, the government is our biggest client, obviously the bank is a good customer but also commercial organisations from Tesco to small businesses.”

“What did Tesco want with an ecologist?”

“We’ve done surveys before they developed sites make sure there were no protected species present.”

“Ah—makes sense, I suppose. Wouldn’ta thought they cared too much about such things, that’s more Waitrose and M&S innit?”

“Being eco friendly is becoming increasingly important to their customers and for the cost is worth the money. They also have to watch what their more recognised eco friendly competitors are doing and match them.”

“Makes sense I s’pose.”

“So why did Phoebe ask about adoption?”

“I told you,” she said folding the last towel.

“I want the real reason.”

“I think you’d need to ask her.”

“That means you know as well.”

“Sorta.”

“I shall ask her but I’d like some idea first.”

“Why, just ask her.”

“If it was that straightforward she’d have told me when she asked. I know it isn’t to take the heat off her because we’d already agreed I’d take responsibility for Lizzie to let her have some freedom to finish her education and find a good job. I’m pretty sure it isn’t this expansion you’re planning, is it?”

Julie went a lovely shade of puce. “I can’t tell you, Mummy.”

“You can and you will because you know I’ll never betray that confidence.”

“Sod it, you’ll wheedle it out of me anyway. Don’t you dare tell her I told you or she’ll never speak to me again and the business will go tits up.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, some of it is guesswork, but her mother and her auntie died with breast cancer.”

“She’s carrying the gene?”

Julie shrugged. “She went to the doctor a month or so ago and she’s had a couple of half days since then.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“You were too busy and then the stupid Russians appeared again...”

“I’m never too busy to listen to any of you.”

“Aren’t you? You fall asleep at your desk or watching telly, you’re either always in work or busy in your study...”

“Running a department is rather time consuming...”

“Yeah, didn’t realise you did budgets an’ things too; wish my budget was a million.”

“If it was you’d pay a great deal of tax on it.”

“Yeah, s’pose so.”

“Look, can you drop hints that I’m worried about her without saying why, except her suggestion to adopt Lizzie. She was shaking when she spoke with me.”

“Wouldn’t you be frightened if you were contemplating having your tits off?”

“They don’t do that until after removal of ovaries and womb and they don’t do it until the women are finished with having families. A colleague in uni had it done a year or so ago and her daughter is thinking of it.”

“I’ll try and hint to her, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work.”

“I know I’m only her adoptive mother, but I do care for her—poor kid.”

“I know and we do love you,” she said wrapping me in a monster hug, “when you’re awake.” Then she chuckled and picked up her bag of towels and left the room while I stood there and felt disappointed in myself. I really wasn’t sure how much longer I could cope with running the department and caring for my children.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2627 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 was sitting in the kitchen drinking tea when Phoebe came in and shut the door after her. “Hello, sweetheart, want some tea?”

“Please,” she sat opposite me while I got her a mug and poured in some tea and then some milk before passing it to her. “Thanks,” she said taking the mug.

“It’s not very often we have a chance to do this, is it?”

“Uh no,” she answered trying to look relaxed but was obviously rather tense.

“You going to tell me why you’re here besides having a cuppa?”

“I just came for a chat—honest—Mummy.”

“I didn’t come down in the last shower of rain, I know you’re holding back on something, which is entirely your prerogative, but I assume you’d like to share it with me or you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

“I might just want to chat because we’re all so busy these days.”

“Don’t tell me you’re fascinated by the goings on in the dormouse breeding programme—because they’re all still hibernating—and given the forecast, part of me would like to join ’em.”

“I might be—can I hibernate with you?”

“Why—because it’s easier than facing up to problems?”

“Yeah, I s’pose.”

“They say a trouble shared is a trouble halved.”

“Is it true though?”

“I suspect it is because two heads are better than one when it comes to looking at solutions.”

She sat drinking her tea and thinking. Twice she seemed about to speak then changed her mind. Finally, she put her mug down and said, “Can the blue light cure cancer?” Then she burst into tears.

“Who’s got it?” I asked playing dumb.

“Me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I opened my arms and she came and sat on my lap, snuggling into me, tears dripping down her face.

“Can you cure me before it starts? I don’t want to die.”

“Hey, let’s keep this real shall we?”

She nodded wiping her nose then rested her head on my shoulder.

“How d’you know you have it?”

“I carry the gene.”

“How d’you know that?”

“I had a test done.”

“When was this?”

“About a month ago, my mum and one of her sisters had it and died from breast cancer.”

“You’ve had the result?”

“Yeah, I went and saw the clinic yesterday.”

“So that’s why you wanted me to adopt Lizzie?”

“Yeah, I don’t how much longer I’ll be here?”

I saw the figure ninety two appear in my mind’s eye. “Rather a long time yet, say another seventy or more years.”

“Thanks for trying to reassure me but I know I’m going to die.”

“We all are, sweetheart; it’s the only certainty in life—ironic or what?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to die before you, aren’t I?”

“I don’t think so, but it’s not just about longevity unless it comes with quality of life.”

“I know, Mummy.”

“Our lives are shortened by all sorts of things.”

“I know all of this.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, so how can I help you?”

“Make this cancer go away.”

“It isn’t a cancer yet, is it—just a potential to become one. I don’t think I can do very much until we know how and what is happening.”

“Great, so I’ve got to be terminal before it does anything. Thanks a bunch.”

“No, but how am I supposed to ask it to cure an illness that hasn’t started yet?”

“Tell it to change my DNA so I don’t get it.”

“Much as I’d love to report to you that I had done such a thing—I know in my heart of hearts that it doesn’t work like that.”

“So that’s it then—go away and die—just like that?”

“No it isn’t and you know that jolly well. I can’t change your DNA until you finish growing, and I don’t know if I can do it then—it is pretty radical.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s messing with nature.”

“But nature is messing with my life, Mummy. I don’t want to die of breast cancer.”

“You won’t.”

“I won’t?

“No.”

“How d’you know?”

“Because I do.”

“What will I die from, then?”

“Essentially, old age.”

“Yeah but how exactly?”

“I can’t tell you more than I have already.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really.”

“Look, I can’t tell you the details because you could do something which influences a different outcome.”

“What?”

“Say, I told you you’d make a hundred and you took greater risks than you needed to because you thought you couldn’t die before then, you could end up having an accident because you thought you were invincible—and find out the hard way that you’re not.”

“I see.”

“I hope so.”

“So will I get breast cancer?”

“If you do it will be treated to prevent your demise.”

“Oh, so I won’t die from it then?”

“No,” this girl was just like half my students—doesn’t listen—then I suppose it is difficult stuff to deal with.

“So I don’t have to have my breasts off and lose my ovaries?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“But I might have to later?”

“Phoebe, live for the present and stop worrying about what may or may not happen.”

“I will won’t I? I’m gonna lose my breasts, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re just saying that...you don’t want me to know, do you? Big power trip, is it?”

“Phoebe, you are going to live to a ripe old age—just accept that.”

“Will I have children?”

“That’s for you to decide, no one else.”

“But you can see the future—can’t you?”

“Not really. I wasn’t asking about the future other than were you at risk from breast cancer—the answer that came back was—not especially if you take precautions.”

“Like having my breasts off and my ovaries and womb out—I won’t be a woman then, will I?”

“Do you see me or Julie as women?”

“Of course I do.”

“We don’t have ovaries or wombs but we’re still women.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have ones to start with, so you’re used to the idea. I’m not.”

“Phoebe, listen to me—you’re going to be all right providing you don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“So I could still die with it?”

“Not if you don’t take unnecessary risks. It’s like you won’t get HIV if you don’t have unprotected sex.”

“Oh God, I’m not going to get that, am I?”

“No. I was simply using it as an example of all things being possible. Avoid the risks and you won’t.”

“I think I’m gonna stay a virgin, it’s safer.”

“Safer but not necessarily better.”

“Oh, Mummy, what shall I do?”

Oh boy, this is hard work. “Just get on with life and don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“But how?”

“Like you did before you thought of all this.”

“And I won’t get breast cancer?”

I didn’t say you wouldn’t get it rather that you won’t die from it. “The risks are greatly reduced if you don’t smoke and have regular breast exams.”

“Smoking causes lung cancer not breast cancer,” she said chuckling as if she’d caught me out.

“It increases the risk considerably, as well as that of cancers of the bladder and kidneys.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2628 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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Phoebe eventually went off leaving me feeling totally shattered. She was at risk of breast cancer but what happened depended upon what she did about it. If she had regular exams, it reduced the risk dramatically. She needed to have children then think about possibly have oophorectomies and hysterectomies and breast removal and reconstruction; based upon risk. I got the impression that she had quite a few years to decide upon having children and so on, but first she had to meet someone she wanted to spend her life with and at seventeen, it’s a bit premature in my mind but I might just be old fashioned.

Simon asked me what was going on but I told him I was too tired to discuss it and went to bed. He followed me asking again what was going on with Phoebe and as he was nominally her other parent, I told him. Initially he was alarmed by the news of the cancer gene, which was why I didn’t want to talk about it. He did calm down when I told him, it wasn’t an immediate problem.

He eventually allowed me to go to sleep after I stopped responding to his questions by pretending to already be asleep. I didn’t sleep that well because I kept seeing Phoebe anguishing about her possible cancer risk. Ironically, she told me she slept really well after our session together. Simon also slept like a corpse, barely moving until he woke which was about the time I was going off to sleep. I managed two hours before Messrs Humphrys and Naughtie woke me talking about earthquakes in Nepal and the election. A silly thought went through my mind, China being a one party state, doesn’t have elections just erections—I did say it was silly.

I began to think that elections here were becoming as crazy as they were in America with huge amounts of money spent before electioneering proper began. We’ve had nearly a year of the phony election now it’s the real thing, and d’you know what? I can’t tell the difference except Dave the chameleon wears a blue tie more often.

I emerged from the shower, the death toll in Nepal was rising—given the poverty there, it’s hardly surprising plus it will take days to get to remote communities who may have been decimated.

After dressing, I roused the girls and waited to help with their hair only to be told they’d do each others. I warned them no silliness and went to start breakfast. They arrived half an hour later each with hair in plaits. As it was quite well done I allowed it. Seeing Danni with plaited hair surprised me, but it was obviously long enough to do, showing how much it had grown in the previous eighteen months with help from oestrogen. Her hair wasn’t the only thing that was growing. She was about half an inch taller, but her body was developing in a very curvaceous manner, her hips broadening as her waist shrank—and she eats like horse.

Phoebe came down and hugged me, thanking me for listening to her the night before. She thought she had things in perspective now and for the moment was going to concentrate on developing the business with Julie—who looked relieved to hear it.

The two of them went off in Julie’s Smart car and ten minutes later I stuffed the car full of schoolgirls and we left for St Claire’s. Sister Maria grabbed me and asked if I was okay because I didn’t look so good. I checked in my compact mirror and certainly, I had dark rings under my eyes. Alas I had too much to do in my office to be able to go back to bed.

Delia met me with two newspaper articles she’d seen, one on Bruce Jenner telling the world he was a woman—seeing as we’ve known about it for months, I ignored it. The second was some awful story about a transsexual woman who was beaten up by police who also cut her hair off. The pictures showed her before and after, the contrast was enough to make you want to heave. No one deserves to be beaten like that. The full body pictures of her in a bra and thong outfit were a bit OTT, tending to suggest she’d had more plastic surgery than Sylvester Stallone’s mother as she resembled an almost caricature of an extreme female body-shape with tiny liposuctioned waist and huge implant assisted hips and bum matching the extravagant breasts and enhanced lips.

It reminded me that in South America women save for plastic surgery from puberty to enhance this or reduce that, spending thousands of pounds every year to have various bits altered to meet stereotypes of how sexy women should look. I found it frightening as well as sad verging on pathetic. What happens to the women who can’t afford the surgery or don’t want it for whatever reason? Are they left on the sidelines in the boyfriend or husband stakes? It seems like an epidemic is happening worldwide with young women all over the world feeling they have to conform to one or two basic shaped patterns to be seen as desirable, either voluptuous or stick insect thin. Crazy as most women are in between the two, which includes me.

I’ve never understood why supermodels are six feet two and built like bean poles when most women are about five feet five or six and a size twelve or fourteen. They have very little in common at all, mind you neither do the clothes they model as far as the high street is concerned. There, at the top end, if the Duchess of Cambridge is seen wearing something from a chain store, they’re sold out in minutes.

Delia appeared with coffee and an armful of papers to read or sign. “What did you think of the stories?” she asked me.

“They were both outrageous in their own way, but the one seemed full of the privileged classes being able to do what they want—tell that to the black transgendered sex workers in the red light districts of New York or Chicago, many of whom will never live to save enough for SRS because disease or violence is likely to get them first, or their drug habits.

“The other was outrageous insofar as it showed what happens when you have too much power vested in the forces of oppression as they believe they can get away with it. The same is true in places like Afghanistan or other fundamentalist countries.”

“Oh okay, I suppose that’s what happens when you ask a professor a simple question, you get an exposition.”

“Serves you right.”

“I have another.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Can I come dormouse counting with you when the season starts?”

That caught me unawares. It’s meant to be for undergraduates to give them a chance to participate in a field survey, but we do relax it to allow interested others to help including my own children at times.

“Um, yeah course you can. Tell Graham, he’s doing most of the organising.”

“Cool, I will—and thank you.”

“What for?”

“Letting me participate.”

“You work here, so why not? I’m sure it’s covered in the constitution for equal rights for all.”

“I can’t wait to tell my mum I saw a dormouse in the wild.”

“If I’m on the survey, you’ll get a chance to do more than see one, you’ll have a chance to handle one as well.”

“Oh wow, that is like totally fab.”

“If only everyone were so easily pleased.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2629 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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“They’ve started the dormouse surveys already,” panted Delia when I returned a pile of signed letters for her to despatch.

“They do, depending upon weather. As it’s been so mild, I would expect they’ve seen a few.”

“They have. I’m going to be helping in a fortnight’s time—I can’t believe it—me actually helping in something scientific.”

“What’s so remarkable about that?”

“I flunked science in a big way—didn’t seem relevant to girls generally and me in particular.”

“What’s changed your mind?”

“Yes she did.”

I had to think about that for a moment. “Exactly what thing changed your mind?” I rephrased my question.

“Oh lotsa things, seeing so many girl students here, and a woman professor in charge of things. Meeting your tame dormouse, seeing your films and just realising that it could be possible.”

“What—that you could study a science subject?”

“Yeah, especially biology with all those cuddly things.”

“Like hedgehogs and badgers, fruit flies or frogs...”

“Euch, no dormice.”

“What about harvest mice or field mice or woodmice?”

“No, I like dormice and perhaps red squirrels.”

“No otters or polecats?”

“I’d love to see an otter, not sure I’d want to cuddle one.”

“Nor me.” The chances were minimal to put it mildly, but dormeece—we can do. I retreated to my office and called Graham on the internal phone system.

“Hello Professor, to what do I attribute this honour.”

“Hello Graham, male cow poo is alive and well, I see.” He simply laughed. “I hear my secretary is coming dormouse hunting with you in a fortnight?”

“Uh yeah, is that okay?”

“Of course, how many have you got for it?”

“So far about six, why—you thinking of coming?”

“Could be, why is there a problem?”

“Absolutely not, but if you come half the first year will sign up.”

“What?”

“If you come all the newbies will want to come too.”

“Why?”

“Because it immediately becomes the Hampshire equivalent of a big game hunt, with a big beast out in the field.”

“What big beast?”

“You professor.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Look half of them are only here because they saw your dormouse film and an ambition is to be out in the field with you and see a real live, wild dormouse. Then it’s as close to the film as they can get.”

“Is that for real, Graham?”

“I’ve actually heard one or two say on surveys, ‘If only Cathy Watts was here too, it would be like being in her film.’ So I reckon it’s probably true.”

“Better keep it quiet then.”

“Fine, but can you lead a section?”

“Of course, better stick Delia in it, she can take dictation in between nest boxes.” At this he burst into laughter. “You think I’m joking?”

His answer was another peal of laughter. It was flattering to think my fan club would want to come and play with me. “I can’t believe kids are so naïve as to imagine they’re in one of my films.”

“That’s for the newbies, the rest of us would come to see a mistress of her art in action. You could give a master-class in dormouse surveying techniques.” He chuckled before I could grumble at him.

“You do more of them than I do, dormouse surveys, I mean.”

“Yeah but who taught me?”

“I don’t know, who taught you?”

“Geez Cathy, you did or have you forgotten already?”

“Yes, it’s the consequence of being a celluloid giant after a government elects to indulge small meetings like ours.”

“I think it’s fair, after all who puts the bed into bedrock, but yours ephemerally.”

“As dormice can live five years or more in Earth years, I wonder how they met?”

“Is this a normal.”

“For who, humans or dormice.”

“You’ve lost me, Cathy.”

“Better get your GPS out then. Nice talking to you, Graham.” I put the phone down wondering what we’d been talking about, it seemed somewhat surreal—now was that me or him, or a bit of both? I decided I wouldn’t tell Delia, the way she was flapping earlier she’ll probably pass out in ecstasy. I can’t believe I’d have half the first year turn out if it became known I was out on a field trip. I know I tend to run good ones when I’m teaching, but this is just a normal survey.

If I was that special wouldn’t they all be doing selfies of themselves with me every time we passed in the corridor or do they only recognise me in the flesh when there’s a bit more on show as with those shorts? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.

I settled down to read a dissertation from one of my postgrad students who I’ve had investigating hedgehog populations. For the past three years he’s been collecting data on sightings of live hedgehogs from observers, and records of roadkill ones. It makes grim reading suggesting that hedgehogs are in decline by about sixty per cent in the previous twenty years.

I had some data from my study in Bristol and I know it’s not comparing like with like as Portsmouth and Bristol are very different types of city, but the numbers of roadkill then were ten times more numerous, suggesting but not proving, hedgehogs were much more numerous. Sadly, it doesn’t tell us why—climate change, tidier gardens, slug pellets and loads of other factors. It is just as likely to be multi-factorial but I’d bet a pound to a penny that human activity is a very large factor. We’ll be happy when all the wildlife we have are rats, cockroaches and flies because we’ve exterminated everything else deliberately or by accident such as bumble bees with nicotinamide insecticides. If we do lose these bumbling pollinators be prepared to go hungry as they fertilise millions of hectares of arable crops before hive bees get out of bed.

Tom has spoken about keeping bees before now—as I don’t particularly like things that buzz, I haven’t encouraged him, asking him if he fancied himself as Sherlock Holmes—he retired to keep bees in Sussex. We’re just a bit further west from there. His response in typical Tom fashion was, ‘Och no hen, ye’re thae crime fechter here.’

According to Lawrence’s dissertation hedgehogs really are in trouble. Before I got any further depressed, I left to collect the girls from school, hoping they’d cheer me up.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2630 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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Where does the time go? It was barely the weekend with Danielle again scoring twice in her ladies soccer game and Trish wanting equipment to split the atom and we were half way through the next. Could it actually be just one more week before polling day, the opportunity to vote I would take as if my life depended up on it. I think back to those who risked or sacrificed their lives to gain universal adult suffrage and feel not to vote disrespects them. Voting should be compulsory here as it is in a number of countries. Not voting is stupid. People should be engaged with politics and casting a vote at general elections is the only way to have a say in the government of the day. For those who think their vote is irrelevant or a waste of time, I tend to think of the old rhyme for the want of a nail.

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

Having alienated myself from millions of my fellow countrymen, at least in spirit, I arrived at the school and collected a car load of grumbling schoolgirls. Trish was unhappy that she was expected to play tennis, whereas Livvie was pleased to be able to play it, and Danni was allowed to do circuit training to maintain her fitness as a footballer—an England footballer.

She is rather special as are her soccer skills, Trish is pretty good too except she still feels embarrassed by her abilities, feeling they expose her past as a boy when she refused to play the game—ironic or what? Meems is not one bit interested in any sport, she’d rather play with her dollies than a ball of any sort. Cate is signed up for nursery and Puddin’ goes to a small school near the hospital because Stella can take her and Fiona there.

I’d have thought the obvious solution would have been to have all the girls in one school and arrange a minibus each way every school day. Stella seemed perturbed that my kids might appear brighter than hers. I jokingly passed it off as proving the outcome of inbreeding among the upper classes, but she didn’t find it very funny. Dunno why.

The contest for vice chancellor was hotting up. One or two of my colleagues wanted me to do it, even Tom wasn’t against it, but I was even when they suggested a salary of over two hundred thousand pounds. It might be the going rate but I considered it obscene. When I asked Tom about his tenure as dean, he gave me a very cryptic answer which when I sat down and tried to decode, implied he was only doing it to enable me to gain experience as a professor so I could move on to greater things. I presumed he meant Sussex.

There was a rumour that Oxford was expecting to have a vacancy for a professor of mammalian biology and London was thinking of creating a chair of ecology and field biology. It’s all very well if you don’t have a dozen kids to look after but I do so any jobs involving extra hours weren’t really welcome. Even when Simon primed the girls to tell me to go for these more influential jobs, aided and abetted by Tom, I stood my ground and after a bit of a discussion, they all agreed with me. They wanted a mother not housekeepers, however efficient they were and Lorraine and Helen were efficient and likeable.

While tidying one day, Helen found a photo of the girls with Jenny our old nanny who I eventually dismissed for trying to extort money under false pretences. She jumped off a motorway bridge and lived to tell the tale, though had persistent back problems for which she was using cannabis. I told Helen all about her and Caroline a tg helper I employed who Jenny decided to manipulate causing her to revert to her male status before chucking her. Caroline was hurt in a RTA and on recovering had a row with me and walked off in high dudgeon having got hold of the completely wrong end of the stick.

“Why did you employ someone like that when you could have had a normal woman working for you?”

“She needed the job and I needed some support in the house.”

“This was before David came?”

“Oh yes, quite a few years ago now.”

“You’re such a good employer, I can’t believe any one willingly left here.”

“They did but only after an up and downer, which was all a misunderstanding. I could see that Jenny was manipulating her, but Caroline couldn’t see it at all, accused me of having had a downer on Jenny—she had stolen some of my property—and resigned, or rather stormed off in a huff.”

“Silly girl,” observed Helen.

I agreed but these things happen. David made us a delicious game pie for dinner. I didn’t ask too closely as to what was actually in it expecting to hear, Bambi, a pheasant, rabbit or hare and so on. Trish who was starving, or so she said asked what was in game pie and David told her a rugby player, a soccer player, a tennis star and a golfer. The look on Trish’s face was priceless. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided David who took it in good humour before telling her it was ‘game pie.’

Trish knows quite a lot of things but at times she shows her inexperience or naïveté. I sometimes have to remember that Trish is still only ten years old and sometimes has no sense of humour.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2631 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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Once Trish had recovered her composure, she thought David’s joke was an absolute hoot. So much so that when I collected them the next day I was questioned by the headmistress about cannibalism. Taken aback I floundered until she mentioned us eating a rugby player and a golfer... She roared with laughter while gave an embarrassed smile thinking that she ought to get out more.

It was the Thursday of a week that ended in a Bank Holiday, or should that be, the following week began with a weekend, as they mostly occur on Mondays, or perhaps just, a holiday weekend. It was also my turn to feed the dormice and on a whim asked the headmistress if she’d like to see them. She practically jumped up in the air agreeing in an instant. We agreed on Saturday at ten. Of course Trish, Livvie and Meems agreed as well, so I’d have a car load to take with me. Danni didn’t say anything then I realised she was playing football. I told her I thought it was Sunday according to the calendar and we both checked it as soon as we got home. She was wrong, it was Sunday, so I’d have to go early to the university and then go to watch her play fitba’.

Of course there were several volunteers to come both days, so I told them they’d need to be up early for Sunday. I also warned them that it was going to rain on Saturday. Danni groaned. I suppose she knew she’d get all wet and muddy on Sunday. Honestly, she gets more girly every week—until she steps onto a soccer pitch and she becomes very focused. However, she doesn’t like getting dirty until after the first tackle. She still plays like a boy being fearless in the challenge and physically stronger in the tackle. No one has twigged so far and she’s by far the best player on the team, which is why she has an England cap and the others don’t.

Friday was its usual manic occurrence where everyone was rushing to get finished and off for the weekend. On collecting the girls, I reminded Sister Maria to come to the side entrance at ten and I’d let her in and show her the dormice.

David did cottage pie for dinner which I knew would go down very well, probably not touching the sides as it was swallowed. What I hadn’t bargained on was that he’d created some special ones for Trish and Livvie and Meems. He’d made a cottage out of potatoes which he’d filled with the mince and gravy, and when he grilled after brushing the top with butter and milk, it turned brown and looked like a thatched cottage. Everyone thought it was really clever, especially me. I’d never have been able to do it in a million years.

I asked Livvie to take some photos before they ate them which she did, the photos that is. David asked for a copy to put in his portfolio—he keeps a record of anything unusual he does, including a photo if there is one.

On the Saturday I and a car load of volunteers arrived at the university. I let us in and we each carried some of the dried fruit and meal worms from the technician’s store room to the lab where we have the dormouse unit. At ten I returned to the side door and there sheltering from the rain was my favourite headmistress. We exchanged greetings as I let her in.

“It’s horrible weather,” she said shaking her umbrella before I shut the door, “but it isn’t that cold.”

“I should hope not as it’s May,” was my response.

“Not a very auspicious start,” she said leaving her brolly in the bucket by the door.

“Don’t forget that, will you.”

“If it’s still raining, I won’t don’t worry.”

I led her down to the dormouse unit where my girls were waiting to greet her. Showing how fond of her they were, they all gave her a little hug which slightly surprised me but not her. I then let them show her over the unit while I hovered in the background to confirm or correct the information they gave her. Trish as usual did the lion’s share not giving the others much chance to grab the initiative, although it was Livvie who took Spike from her nest box and handed her to her teacher to hold, Meems handing her hazel nuts to give the patient dormouse.

She’s seen Spike before but I don’t think she’d held her and once again I watched as the remarkable rodent captivated and entranced another human. “She is so beautiful, Cathy,” Sister Maria said acknowledging my presence. “Oh look at her little hands holding the nut.” Livvie took a picture of the event which we’d print off and present her with next week, in a frame.

I recovered the greedy dormouse and deposited her back in her nest box with some meal worms. It’s disgusting to watch her eat those, especially the live ones, but it gives her some protein and other vitamins which she doesn’t get from nuts or fruit.

I made us some coffee and the girls had some milk. We talked about the history of the lab and my contribution to it. I’d taken over its running within a short time of being at the university and had been successful with various grants to expand its size and therefore its breeding success. We’d released over two hundred dormice over the seven years I’d been involved, of which at last summer two thirds survived for at least a year, giving them a chance to breed. Chipping them before release made accurate tracking more possible, though it was quite expensive.

I showed her the nest boxes we have made by a tertiary college which teaches carpentry, they’re about half the price we’d pay a commercial supplier. The corrugated plastic tubes we also use are bought through the Mammal Society. I explained the system of surveying and then managing a site.

When I showed her the latest photographs of the Cathy’s Wood and the Billie King visitor centre, she declared she’d like to have parties of the girls use it as part of their GCSE and A/S level biology coursework. I told her that we hadn’t officially opened it yet but as Billie had been a pupil at her school it seemed appropriate that they should have the inaugural official visit which I would arrange with Dan, who was the centre manager. In fact I sent him a text asking him to discuss it with me.

She left about half an hour later. “You know, Billie was very excited that her old school would be the first to visit her centre,” said Trish when I came back to the lab.

“I had a feeling she would approve.”

“Oh she does, but she’s also telling me to tell you that you work too hard.”

“Okay, I’ll try to do less.”

“She likes that, Mummy, and she says she loves you and always will;” which was when the tears came.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2632 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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“Why are you crying, Mummy?” asked Livvie, “Is it because of Billie?”

I was too choked to speak so nodded tears running in streams down my face.

“She’s okay,” offered Trish and she doesn’t want you to worry about her.

“I know, I know,” I managed to squeeze out of my constricted larynx.

“So what you crying for?” Trish could be very direct when the mood took her and logic was stronger than empathy most of the time.

“I miss her,” I sniffed.

“We all do, don’t we Liv?”

“Course, but it’s different for mums, innit, Mummy?”

I nodded not sure that I really wanted a discussion on the various levels of grief experienced by different age groups. I suspect that I bonded more with my children than they did with each other, or perhaps just more quickly. I suspected that it was because I needed to be a mother as much as they needed mothering which was more than they needed siblings.

Carefully drying my eyes and sniffing my sinuses clear, I went to pick up my bag. Standing by it was Danni and her shoulders were shaking—she was crying. She and Billie were particularly close, with Danny the big brother getting involved in several fights on her behalf. I put my hand on her shoulder and waved the others away. Then I drew her into a hug. “Why’d she have to die, Mummy? It’s so unfair.”

“I know, sweetheart. Why—I don’t know, I don’t understand any of it or the reality of what some of you just saw.”

“You didn’t see her, then?”

“No, I don’t know why—perhaps too many barriers or filters.”

“For someone who’s dead, she looked really well,” then realising the absurdity of her statement she laughed, then laughed uncontrollably and finally wet herself. There were embarrassed laughs from behind us. I grabbed some paper hand towels and gave them to her steering her past the others to a toilet up the corridor.

“Clean yourself up as best you can, stick some toilet paper in your knickers if they’re wet, they’ll soon dry out.”

“What about my tights?”

“Put it between your knickers and your tights, hopefully it’ll dry both of them, or take your tights off, we’ll go home now instead of shopping.”

“I was looking forward to going to the shops. I always spoil things, don’t I?” She started to cry again.

“Sweetheart, go and clean yourself up, accidents can happen to anyone, especially those of us with modified plumbing.”

She nodded an scurried off to the loo. I went back to find Livvie cleaning up the lab floor. “Oh thanks. Darling, that’s very kind of you.”

“’S alright,” she said putting the paper towels in the bin and rinsing her hands, “No one else was gonna do it,” she looked accusingly at Trish and Meems.

Danielle returned sans tights. “Couldn’t I buy some more pants and tights, Mummy?”

“If we went to Asda or somewhere like that we could.”

“Please,” asked Danni and the others agreed. So that’s what we did. We went to Asda and she bought a pack of panties and a pair of opaque tights, paid for them and then went off to the toilet to put them on, taking a spare bag to shove her damp panties in. Once she was redressed the mood seemed to lighten and we all browsed the store the younger girls buying makeup while I bought some flour and yeast for the bread machine.

We had a snack in the coffee bar there, although I prefer Morrison’s cafe, then we did a couple of hours doing the chain stores. Nobody bought anything but they had fun trying stuff on, especially in the shoe department which had Trish trying to walk in a pair of four inch courts. She couldn’t, but Danielle could. Then they dared me. Well, never one to run away from a challenge I found a pair in my size and strolled up and down the shop a la catwalk style. The girls were in fits of laughter as I hammed it up.

Until...yeah, the manageress came up and tapped me on the shoulder. The girls were laughing so much at my antics there was a danger of someone else wetting their knickers. With the tap on the shoulder that nearly was me.

“Excuse me, Madame...”

“Oops, sorry—just having fun with my daughters.”

“Oh that’s fine, we like to think shopping is fun.”

“Oh good,” I went to take the shoes off and replace my own when she completely surprised me.

“Look, madame, we’re having a little fashion show tomorrow evening and we’re short of models. You look a size twelve or fourteen—would you be prepared to help us out? It’s for a good cause—the children’s hospice.”

“I’d have thought I was too old.”

“Not at all, we need people in their late twenties as most of our clientele are probably that age not teenagers.”

“She’s thirty one,” offered Trish smirking.

“You look good on it, madame; I’d have said more like twenty five.” I knew she was probably just soft soaping me into helping but I poked my tongue out at Trish who frowned at me.

“What time tomorrow?”

“It starts at seven thirty, but we’d need you here an hour or so before to sort out the stuff you’ll be modelling.”

“What time is your match tomorrow, sweetheart?” I asked Danielle.

“Half ten, why?”

“Would your daughter care to model for us as well?” The manageress glanced at Danni whose face lit up.

“Oh yeah,” she said, “I’m a size six.”

“If I could just take your names and a contact number...”

I just managed to stifle Trish from spilling the beans. “It’s Cathy Cameron and my daughter is Danielle.” I gave them my mobile number.

Back in the car Trish was miffed that she was too young again, “Why didn’t you tell them you were Lady Cameron?”

“It wasn’t appropriate or necessary.”

“But it’s your title.”

“So is Mrs and doctor, but neither would have been important in fact they might have made things worse. As it is she thinks I’m a housewife and mother, who probably got myself pregnant very young in having Danielle as someone only eighteen years younger.”

“What about Jacquie and Sammi or Julie then?”

“Thank goodness they weren’t here, that really would have caused confusion.”

“You coulda told her we’re adopted.”

“No I couldn’t, she didn’t need to know it and it’s not good to tell people too much about yourself, which is one of the criticisms of the internet and places like Facebook, youngsters especially, give away too much information about themselves to paedophiles.”

“I won’t do that,” exclaimed Trish blushing.

“You nearly did, or gave unnecessary information about Danni and me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she started to get all moist eyed.

“I know, it’s sometimes what is called unwitting disclosure and is especially common in youngsters and old people.”

“So how come you didn’t?” she said and leant back in her seat so I couldn’t reach her.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2633 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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Danielle was as fizzy as a shaken bottle of pop, which tended to spark the others off with not a little resentment that they hadn’t been chosen as well—and all because I messed about in the shoe department of a chain store.

Trish mizzed because she was yet again too young, “I’m always too young,” she complained.

“Not for baby clothes,” Danni fired back and I felt a need to get between them as it looked as if name calling was about to become something altogether more physical. Making them shake hands defused the situation especially when Danielle apologised without me asking her to. At times I’m impressed by her maturity, though it tends to be intermittent.

My suggestion that Trish work as hard as she could at school could give her the ultimate rebellion to be considered too young, I would be speaking with Oxford University and possibly Cambridge once I thought she was mature enough to do a degree, which should be earlier than most people manage it—considerably so. She brightened up at that, realising she could be ready to go in a couple of years. I’d arranged a chap from the physics department to coach her in physics and maths from the end of May. She said she was looking forward to it, I hoped so, it was going to cost enough especially on top of school fees.

Sunday morning eventually dawned and I took Danielle to her home ground for the soccer match. I did think to take my iPad and work in the car but the rain had stopped and donning my wellies I wandered out to the stand and took a seat—I know, the stand is full of seats, and this is England not the emerald Isle. Out of the watery sun that tried its best to shine, the wind was cool rather than the cold breezes we’d had of late, but then rain is usually accompanied by a south westerly wind which comes over the Atlantic ocean and up the channel.

About twenty minutes later the two teams arrived on the pitch and after the toss up to determine ends and kick off, the game began. Either this team had seen Danni in action before or had done their homework, because she was shadowed by three of the opposing side anytime it appeared she might get the ball. Several times she was fouled and I suspect collected some bruises. Twice the referee didn’t give the foul which caused a lot of opprobrium to flow his way from the partisan crowd.

The score remained goalless until about thirty minutes into the game when Danielle received a pass and out manoeuvred her markers to run towards the goal. Then she was just chopped down like a piece of timber. The referee showed the offending woman a yellow card who told him what she thought of him and then received a red one. At one point I thought she was going to hit him but she was bundled away by two of her colleagues and left the pitch.

All this time Danielle had been receiving attention from their trainer, ice and so on, plus I sent her some blue light. After several minutes she rose to her feet and limped about to an enormous cheer from the home supporters. She indicated she wanted to take the free kick which was a direct one, meaning it can be kicked at goal without anyone else needing to touch it.

The opposition set up their wall although in actual fact all it served to do was block the goalkeeper’s view not that she’d have stopped it. I know David Beckham was useful with a curving kick, but this one from Danni went round the right hand side of the wall and entered the goal inside the left hand goal post travelling so quickly I nearly lost sight of it. The goalie didn’t move. It was the best form of riposte to foul play there is.

At half time she gave me a thumbs up and I continued to send healing to her leg so when they returned for the second half she was running more freely but not at her usual full speed. As the game progressed she became increasingly confident and started to demonstrate why she was an England cap and her opponents weren’t, to be brief she ran rings around them. Watching the goalie come off her line, she lobbed the ball so it bounced a yard in front of the advancing keeper and bounced over her head and into the net.

Finally with the almost last kick of the match, she took a corner which hit the crossbar, then the back of the goalie’s head and ricocheted into the goal. Portsmouth won by three goals, all attributed to Danielle.

I waited while she showered and changed and we dashed off home for lunch and for Trish and I to work on her leg to get the bruising down, it was black and blue. We’d no sooner got home than her mobile rang, she spoke for a few moments and then she handed it to me.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs Cameron, it’s Bob Crowthorne.”

“Yes, how can I help?”

“You don’t know who I am do you?”

“Should I?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not; I’m the coach for the England Ladies side.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not overawed?”

“Should I be?”

He chuckled, “Obviously not—you know why I’m calling.”

“If it’s to ask me to play you’re in more trouble than I thought.”

He roared with laughter. “Uh not quite, but I’d like your daughter to train with the full ladies side with the possibility she could be the youngest full cap we’ve ever had.”

“Isn’t that asking for trouble putting a girl up against full grown women who’ll be bigger and stronger?”

“Normally I’d agree with you, but she’s already playing against adult women and beating them hands down. I think she’s skilful enough to hold her own and I think she’s ready to play on a bigger stage.”

“Hold on, Mr Crowthorne, I need to ask her if she feels ready.” He was saying something but I didn’t listen as I called Danielle back and asked her if she’d like to train with the England Ladies side. She practically floated up to the ceiling. “If I have your assurance that no one will try to hurt her, then I’ll allow her to come to train with your team.”

I suspect he was a little put out that I wasn’t overjoyed at his approach. Danielle was but I’m that little bit older and more cynical. I know she’s got the talent to hold her own but is she strong enough against the finest women players in the land? That was the question and I suppose until it was answered, we’d be none the wiser.

What a family eh? One playing for England at thirteen and another possibly at Oxbridge by the same sort of age; unusual doesn’t do it justice, does it?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2634 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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“And here we have Trish modelling the latest in gymslip maternity wear,” said Livvie as Trish flounced past us in one of my kilts with a cushion shoved up it and some of my higher stiletto heeled shoes.

Not sure whether to laugh or scream at her outlandish costume and awful makeup as she cavorted across the kitchen, I said nothing but tried to see the funny side, even though they were parodying what Danni and I would be doing in a few hours time.

Next arrived Meems, she had a cushion shoved in the back of her knickers making her bum look huge. “Our next model, is Jemima Bum-ble, with emphasis on the bum. Jemima is reminding us what happens if we spend too much time sitting down.” She had on some of my shorts, which came nearly down to her knees, with one of my tops tucked into the shorts and one of my bras too, unless she’d developed G cups since breakfast. It turned out she had balloons in one of my bras and her makeup was equally garish to Trish’s.

The two of them continued parading in my clothes and shoes, shaking their booties or whatever the term is. Livvie explained as they appeared wearing more of my stuff, that as Danni and I were acting as models for the first time, we could learn from seeing two experienced professionals in action.

Okay, by the end I was laughing at their antics and Simon had tears running down his cheeks he was laughing so much. David was snorting with laughter and the older girls were in fits too. I tried to see it as an expression of dissent but cleverly done so as not to invoke a negative response. It was Livvie’s idea and given they’d only two hours to conceive and produce their protest, it was pretty good. But then Livvie is good at these things and is pretty bright as well, although not as clever academically as Trish, she is much more mature.

I helped sort them out, Julie cleaned up our models’ faces and I repossessed my wardrobe hoping there wasn’t anything too marked with makeup. On the quick glance I had while re-hanging them, most of the clothes seemed okay except for requiring a light pressing before wearing and I did have plenty of other things to wear.

After a delicious lunch in which I tried not to eat too much and make my tummy any bigger—I noticed Danni only picked at her food as well, whereas she normally has an appetite to match her physical prowess—followed by a cuppa, i went off to shower and wash my hair, Julie agreed to tidy it up for me and Phoebe did her sister.

Unbeknownst to me, Simon had managed to acquire several tickets for the fashion show and when he and the others waved us off, we little knew they’d be there to watch us in an hour or so’s time. But that is exactly what happened.

It was stressful enough being seen in my underwear, though I had trimmed my pubes so none of my reddish blond hair should have shown, I’d also checked my underarms and had done my legs as well. In the end, we were too busy to notice much at all. I had to model half a dozen items, which had to be checked first. The woman who was in charge of makeup and so on had me try on different things while she made notes about makeup and hair. She had two helpers but each of us models were allocated a makeup woman and a dresser.

Despite having six outfits, there were only three pairs of shoes one of which were probably equipped with five or more inch heels. Somehow I not only managed to totter about in them but also to dance a bit as I went along the catwalk. I was told to just improvise to the music they played. I asked if they had anything by Beethoven and was asked if that was the dog in the movie? Not knowing the film, I said no, a composer from Germany who died in 1827.

“What? That’s like hundreds of years ago, don’t you know anyone a bit younger?”

“Okay, how about Clannad or Enya?”

“Nah, something with more beat, remember we need you to be moving on the cat walk.”

“Um, what pop stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Like Abba?”

“Yeah, good choice—Dancin’ Queen, Super Trouper—they’ll be fine.”

“Queen?”

“Yeah, they done some good uns.”

“Or the Who, Led Zepp, the Stones.”

“What like Stone Roses?”

“No, Rolling Stones.”

“Oh yeah, Painted Black might be good, you got one outfit in black ’aven’t you?”

“I think so, though I was thinking more in terms of Honky Tonk Women.”

“How does that go?”

Singing has never been my strongpoint so I said Painted Black would do. She called over to some DJ guy to see if we Honky Tonk Women. We did, he played it and she immediately saw its potential. Mind you, I only know half of this because Siân’s dad was into rock and roll and we used to play his records and practice dancing in her lounge—well shaking our bits, in her school uniforms—yeah, sad or what? She reckoned it helped me to move like a girl when I was doing Macbeth, all those years ago. I reckon having a large bum and wider hips than most boys helped me move like a girl, same as it does other girls.

Danni chose contemporary songs by contemporary groups, Arctic Monkeys, Kings of Leon, Snow Patrol but she knew their music, I don’t. I did suggest Come together by the Beatles which was approved. Danni just rolled her eyes. I can’t help it, I prefer classical music or film scores, they just didn’t have any of either, so Superman, Star Wars and a host of others couldn’t be used despite the next day being described as Star Wars Day—May the fourth be with you.

In the end it was quite fun once I got over the shock of seeing Si and Tom with the girls all cheering us on. I strutted my stuff to the Stones and Who, while Simon must have enjoyed my revelries to Dancing Queen, being an Abba nut.

Danni seemed able to throw caution to the wind and despite the heels she had on she whirled and whooped about the place, though I was better at skipping in four inch heels than she was.

The nine of us who did the modelling got a rapturous applause at the end and a bouquet of flowers plus a twenty five pound voucher for the store. The manageress thanked us all individually when presenting the flowers and tokens and although I thought Livvie was more spontaneous and funny, the woman was okay and I was introduced as Mrs Cathy Cameron. I didn’t correct her and she didn’t make the connection—sometimes it’s better let sleeping cats lie—yes cats, if Bramble is anything to go by, when she’s asleep she’s angelic, when she’s awake she’s a monster, rushing round the place, catching birds and small furry things which are often released alive in the house and various other crimes. The dog just barks.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2635 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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“My wife, university professor, film maker and presenter, wildlife expert, magical healer and cyclist and runway model.”

“You forgot mother and general skivvy,” I yawned. The buzz I’d got from modelling was rapidly palling and tiredness was setting in. I turned over on my side, plumped up my pillow and started to slip into sleep.

“You’re not a skivvy, we have two housekeepers for that.”

“What?” I snapped, I had just about been asleep and now I was wide awake again.

“You’re not a skivvy, we have two housekeepers for that.”

I tried to stifle a yawn but was largely unsuccessful, “Who d’you think picks up your dirty underpants and socks then?”

“But we pay two people to do that.”

“No we don’t, there is no reason why you can’t put your dirty laundry in the wash basket, but no, you’ve got to just leave them lying on the bedroom floor or in the bath.”

“I’m sorry, Cathy, but it isn’t your job.”

“It shouldn’t be anyone’s job, you’re big enough and ugly enough to do it yourself and surely it doesn’t take any longer than depositing them on the floor.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise it still rankled you, I’ll endeavour to do better in future.”

“You said the last three times I’ve complained.”

“So I’m consistent then.”

I just knew he was grinning and I wanted to hit him he made me so cross with his glib retort. How can a fully grown man be so dismissive of his carelessness? I didn’t know, but I was losing patience and fast. He’s no longer a schoolboy. I resented that he had woken me up to tell me something I already knew and disapproved of heartily. Somehow I controlled my urges to really tell him what I thought and rolled back onto my side. I was now anything but sleepy, I was bristling and when he put his arm around me, I pushed it away. He got the message and muttering something to himself turned away and for the first time in ages we slept back to back. One day he might get the message, I could live in hopes.

It was probably an hour later before I managed to fall into the arms of Morpheus and I stayed there until seven the next morning when I rose grumpily from my bed like Aphrodite with PMS. I had showered and washed my hair, dressed and was half way through waking Danielle when she reminded me it was a bank holiday. So where was Simon?

No wonder they were all so content to go to bed late, they knew they’d have a lie in the next morning—duh. Talk about stupid doesn’t enter into it. How can anyone that dumb get to be a professor apart from friends in high places? Can’t even say it was big tits because mine have got a bit smaller since I stopped feeding Lizzie. She’s now on solids with some formula.

I checked the bed, no, I hadn’t overlooked his sleeping form, the bed was empty. Oh boy, has he got up to do some work or in umbrage, gone off somewhere. I checked the floor in the bedroom and the en suite—there were no underpants. Then in the dirty clothes hamper lay a pair. Goodness, maybe the penny has dropped—it was a full moon last night; is he turning into a (dum dum dum) a weir washer? Nah, he just forgot to drop them on the floor. I almost took them out of the hamper and threw them on the floor so I could grumble and pick them up and deposit them back there. Fortunately, the idea palled as sanity returned.

Downstairs, I found myself alone. He wasn’t in the study or any of the reception rooms. He wasn’t out with the dog, Tom’s coat was missing from the back lobby as was Kiki so it was odds on they were together, Tom and his dug, that is, though that wouldn’t necessarily preclude Simon being with them. The sun was shining, so he could be.

I glanced down the drive his car was still there, alongside the space where mine was. Was being the operative word, it was missing, so were my spare keys. The bugger had taken my car—what for? I’ll murder him if he damages it, anyone would think he owned it—I suppose he does, though he wouldn’t like it if I went looking for it in his car.

He’d recently replaced Stella’s Fiesta with a BMW 318 and Jacquie had been given the old one, Phoebe, who was learning to drive was offered Julie’s Smart car once the new Jaguar XE type comes out and Julie gets one of those. Some ecologist I am, we have almost as many cars in the drive as the M25 in the rush hour.

I decided to make myself breakfast—toast and tea with mashed banana on the charred bread. Jacquie came down with Lizzie and Cate followed on a few steps behind. I poured Jacquie a cup of tea she put Lizzie in the high chair and I quickly made up some formula and handed the baby the bottle. She drank a few gulps and threw it on the floor. It was going to be one of those days. I cut off a crust from my toast and gave it to her. She chewed hungrily on it. Was she teething? I asked Jacquie who said she was going to raise the matter with me. I suggested we gave her one of Kiki’s Bonios and Jacquie snorted tea everywhere. I didn’t think it was that funny.

Meems came down next with Cate, now it was all systems go and the thunder of hoof beats indicated the arrival of Trish and Livvie. Danni probably wouldn’t show much before lunch and eat her breakfast before she had lunch while remaining as thin as a lath. I suppose she burnt it off by all the training she does. Perhaps I should join a soccer team—as I couldn’t kick a ball to save my life—I knew what the answer to that would be.

Simon arrived home and wandered into the kitchen and I made him some coffee. “So where did you take my car?” I asked him, not that he’d tell me if he’d just cut the brakes.

“To the car wash, why?”

“I just wondered—but thank you.”

“It looked dirty yesterday when I came home.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2636 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 wasn’t sure about what I felt, especially about myself. I’d had negative thoughts about Simon or his motives and he was doing something nice for me. Some days I feel that I don’t deserve him, today being one such. I can’t tell him what I was thinking, he’d be horrified or hurt but it grieves me to realise how negative I seem to be at times and about the person I love most in the world. Is life making me this way, or was I always bitter and twisted underneath all that apparent innocence?

Sometimes I think my overarching emotion is anger. Why am I angry? Well obviously at times in response to events, which may or may not, be appropriate. However, there are times when I get angry with no such seeming events to see as the trigger.

After a short time chatting with Simon I went off to do some ironing, I needed to think some of this through. I got the ironing table set up and put some filtered water in the iron, which by the time I sorted what I was going to iron, was hissing nicely. I set to with my mindless task while trying to sort my head out.

What right did I have to feel angry? A recent spat with Simon. The dilemma of career over being a wife and mother. Loss of my daughter, loss of my mother and father. Being born the wrong physical sex or the wrong brain for my body and all the abuse I suffered on account of this. Not being a real woman and not being able to have my own babies. Being deceived by religion, politics and the media. Man’s inhumanity to man. The destruction we’ve wrought on our planet and its other denizens, which religion tells us are here for our benefit. When we’ve made the planet uninhabitable and God doesn’t show up to fix it, we might moderate our arrogance—just in time for our own extinction.

This was getting heavy, so was the iron and I stopped after an hour having done the basketful of mainly shirts and blouses because I felt tired. I didn’t know if the tiredness came from thinking, fretting or ironing. I distributed the clothing I had just ironed making the girls hang up their own stuff—the older ones should have ironed it too. I’m too soft with them much of the time.

I wondered if I’d ever really grieved for my parents, especially my mother. I doubted it. There was so much going on at the time, which is no excuse, though it’s entirely possible that I didn’t need to grieve—wouldn’t that make me hard hearted? I wasn’t sure.

I went to my study and sat pretending to work but in actual fact I was musing on my earlier thoughts. Why was I always so easily riled to anger? Lack of self control. Lack, ha, there’s a laugh, I have no self control whatsoever—if I did, I’d be a stone or two lighter.

“Wotcha doin’, Mummy?” Trish strolled into my study.

“Working, why?”

“You didn’t look as if you were working?” And I wonder why I get angry?

“How do you know I was or wasn’t working.”

“You weren’t swearing.”

“Swearing?”

“Yeah, you’re always swearing at stupid people for not following instructions for the survey.”

I do too, sounds like I’d better watch what I say. It also appears as if my socially inadequate child has more nous than I ever will. “We have someone doing that in the university, I only deal with the disputed ones, or the difficult ones.”

“Like what?”

I grabbed a folder, “Like these,” I opened the folder and showed her my different categories for different events. I handed her one of a dormouse walking into a cafe.

“Was it looking for a teapot to sleep in?”

“As in Alice?”

“Yes,” she grinned.

“I think they were trying to wake it up by dipping it in the teapot.”

“Ugh, that’s cruel.”

“It would be, but at least Dodson knew they hibernated or went torpid. People today only know it because those of us who’ve seen it tell them, or because of Alice.”

“Why did the dormouse go into the cafe?”

“I have no idea, why did the dormouse go into a cafe?”

“No, silly Mummy, why did it?”

“I have no idea how it got there but it was a real sighting because the person who notified us was the chap from the zoo. I can only assume it was disoriented and went to hide in the first place that it could get into.”

“I thought it might have been looking for the Mad Hatter’s tea party.”

“It might have been except it should have gone to Oxford not Lyme Regis.”

“Perhaps it was on its holidays?” offered Trish.

“Yes, that was it I expect.”

She decided I was working and after the banter she got bored and left. I did do some work for the survey but returned to my self analysis for another half an hour before hearing the dinner gong and all pretences at understanding myself were abandoned for the sake of my tummy.

David had created a delicious lasagne and we attended to eating our share of said Italian dish, where the sound of cutlery on plates was the dominant one, showing that we are able to stop talking for a minute or so.

“Mummy said she had a report of a thirsty dormouse going into a cafe in Lyme Regis.”

“That was in the papers,” said Si.

“Didn’t it go to some zoo or other?” asked Sammi.

“Yeah, Paignton, wasn’t it?”

I nodded.

“It wasn’t just a publicity event was it?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

“Yeah, but it’s so far fetched,” argued Julie, “I mean we don’t get ’em coming in for a cut an’ blow dry.”

“Your prices are too dear,” said Trish and if looks could kill, the one Julie gave her should have caused her to spontaneously combust.

“Our prices are very competitive,” Julie said firmly.

“Well Geraldine O’Brien said her mother thought they were a rip off.”

“Oh does she now? Because usually she tells us how reasonable we are.”

“I’m just sayin’ what Geraldine said.”

“Bloody liar,” accused Stella, “

“No I’m not,” said Trish getting ready to abandon ship and run off to her bedroom where the tears would follow.

“Not you, girl, but the blessed woman who’s maligning Julie’s hairdressing business. It’s one of the reasons I gave up running a salon, couldn’t stand people like her.”
The conversation went on for half an hour and we were all wide awake but still friends. I made some tea and after drinking it went back to my survey and my thoughts.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2637 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 began to think a trip to Bristol as soon as I could find the time would be useful. I could go and visit my mother’s grave, or my parent’s grave—Mum was buried, Dad was cremated, but they were buried together. For a moment I thought I’d got that wrong too, then remembered my father’s will requested he be cremated, as I will be in time. It’s funny, we all know we’re going to die, except we try not to think of it because it frightens us. One book I read suggested that ultimately all fear is a fear of death. I’m not so sure. I think I could live with being dead—duh; try again. Being dead doesn’t worry me save for missing out on parts of my children’s lives. However, the actual dying bit, terrifies me. It might be scary or painful or it might be as easy as going off to sleep. We never know until the time, which is also scary. Especially so to a control freak like me.

I hate having things happen over which I have little or no control. The way I transitioned many moons ago was typical of this. If you recall, I was always going to when I was ready, although I always found some sort of obstacle to put in the way. It was great, I could blame the obstacle because I was an innocent and always perfect in every way. So when Stella kick started me by hitting me off my bike and it kept involving other people, it wouldn’t go back into the bag or bottle depending upon whether one considers cats or genies the appropriate allegory.

Simon got involved, albeit unwittingly dating a boy he thought was a girl—well she was except in one quite important place. Tom got involved, but he knew previously. Stella, obviously as she was the main instigator of the event; Dr Thomas and my own GP, Dr Smith were in on the secret as I needed their agreement for the oestrogens I was taking. Then it all moved up a gear as the university became involved and my colleagues and students all got in on my act. My parents were next, or I should say parent. Mum died as I got to her, she was dying and probably delirious saying something about angels when I got to her bedside with Stella.

In one of my strange lucid dreams, she has since told me that she knew who I was, but that may be nothing more than wishful thinking. Dad wasn’t sure about me at all although we managed to tolerate each other at my mother’s funeral. Then he had his stroke and he needed me and for once I was the stronger participant in the relationship. I think he really tried to cope with my change though I can’t say for certain that he ever did. The number of people who got to learn of it seemed to grow and grow and then it sort of stopped except for the odd mention which I often managed to bluster through, or had someone defend me—which was nice. I’m quite capable of fighting my own battles but to have someone else do it for me is quite deliciously girly, unless I have to rescue my rescuer—oh well, life is just an exercise in futility, so we should expect these things.

To get back to the original premise, that of losing control of my life or situation, it would seem I frequently lose control of but survive the experience. You’d think I’d learn from the experience, but I don’t this being real life not some penny dreadful story.

When could I go to Bristol? The weekend would be the easiest in theory but knowing my luck, something was likely to happen to complicate matters. Things never go straightforwardly for me. I always have to do a ten minute detour when I’m already half an hour late—usually through no fault of my own. If I leave early to get to an appointment, something always seems to happen which lasts a bit longer than the extra minutes I allowed.

We can’t control everything—yet. The religious say their god can, but the evidence is all negative. Man’s ingenuity is solving the easy stuff and sophisticated thinking will one day resolve the more complex ones and we will control our environment hopefully to exclude hazards and obstacles. Whether that will include major weather systems is another matter, but the military would love to control the weather to cause adverse conditions for their opponents. It can disable armies, kill many and destroy environs, so it would be a useful weapon. Currently, apart from seeding storms to try and release rain, which is expensive and uncertain, we can’t do much to control our environment.

Obviously, if we could ignore the weather it would make life easier, but anything outdoors means being at the mercy of the elements, which doesn’t rest easy with most of us. So we try to control things and end up messing it up or getting very frustrated. The weather doesn’t upset me these days but my frustration at it sometimes does when I go into six year old full blown tantrum. Frighteningly, I’m rather good at it.

Doing dormouse surveys in the rain doesn’t add much to the experience except to put people off. They get wet and muddy and it’s potentially more dangerous slipping or falling in the treacherous conditions underfoot. Fortunately, my team of surveyors are all young and hopefully bounce reasonable well, but I know of survey teams which comprise several older people and that could be raising the risk factor by several degrees. Having said that some of the older types are retired scientists or other professionals who do a wonderful job of keeping my survey data arriving. That reminds me, I promised Delia she could handle a dormouse if we found any, much of that could be weather related.
“Wot we’s ’avin’ for tea, Mummy?” asked Cate grabbing my leg like a randy Jack Russell.

It looked like my peace and quiet was over and I once again reverted to a busy mother and wife. As we walked hand in hand back to the kitchen I suddenly realised I’d given David the rest of the day off, he had something he needed to do and both Lorraine and Helen were off as well, so guess who had to organise tea... It could be worse, I suppose—yeah, much worse—all of this could be an illusion as they drag my dying body from a hedgerow in the pouring rain. I shuddered, given my previous thoughts about death and dying, that was not one of my preferred examples.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2638 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 did a salad for our evening meal which received grumbles except for the still warm bread and the new potatoes shining in the butter I’d melted over them. Despite the seeming disgust everything disappeared very quickly. “Can we have a Scottish salad next time?” asked Danielle and I saw Daddy colour up just a wee bit.

“What with cold slices of haggis and chopped neeps?” That wasn’t a Scottish salad but she didn’t know that. Daddy shook his head.

“Gramps said it was like ordinary salad only with chips.” I thought as much.

“With deep fried Mars bars for dessert?”

“Uchh, no thanks.”

“That’s a Scottish dessert, I could do deep fried pie if you like.”

“I don’t want deep sea pie or anything like that, just some chips with the salad.”

“We could always have African salad,” I suggested.

“Wassat, Mummy?”

“It’s a normal salad served with chimps.”

The older ones groaned the youngsters thought it was funny.

I suppose doing chips with a salad would be easy enough, we have oven chips and also just plain chipped potatoes in the freezer which needed frying. I try not to fry much at all. The oven chips are so much better than before that I don’t mind eating them these days.

I spoke with Delia the next day and discovered I had nothing lined up for Wednesday, I would zip up to Bristol and visit my parent’s grave. I booked a day’s leave, I would tell Tom when we got home that night.

He agreed it and signed my leave card, so after dropping my girls off at school, I took Cate with me and we drove off to Bristol and the cemetery in which my parents lay. I stopped en route to get some flowers from a supermarket at Cribbs Causeway and we arrived at the house about eleven o’clock.

I checked over the house and apart from some recent mail inside the front door, it all seemed in order. Retrieving something from the car, Margaret Soames spotted me and waved. I returned her wave and she wandered up to speak with me.

“Goodness, is this little Catherine?” she asked.

I nodded and she bent down getting a hug and a sloppy kiss from my penultimate daughter. We both laughed and I invited her in for a cuppa—well it seemed the civilised thing to do.

“How are things?” I asked.

“Gregg is in hospital again.”

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, he’s never been the same since the fire, if it starts to rain in the night he panics and sleeps downstairs.”

“Gosh, he has a bit of a problem, hasn’t he?”

“That’s just part of it, he gets so anxious that I can’t do anything without him coming to look for me. If I go for a wee he’s looking for me and calling, unless he’s asleep, he’s under my feet all day long.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” it was about all I could say or do. I couldn’t even offer the blue light because I wasn’t sure if it helped with mental issues.

“Nice bwoo cowour, Mummy,” said Cate trying to catch something. I briefly saw a flash of blue moving from me to Margaret.

“An’ I’ve had this awful back for weeks now, can barely walk let alone look after Gregg.” As soon as she spoke she went into a sort of trance.

“Margaret, your back is improving as we speak, by bed time tonight it will be fine so you’ll sleep well tonight.” She muttered a yes and I left her to just relax in the trance before counting her back including instructions for her to sleep well at night from now on. When she woke she felt so much better, more energised and relaxed. I had a feeling Gregg got some too because of her fixation with him. I suspected she was nearly as anxious as he’d been, but then the house caught fire and they were trapped in it. Simon and some of the neighbours helped me rescue them. He had head injuries and then a heart attack and those sorts of events can change someone’s personality. I told her to remember me to him in the hope the energy would be able to home in on him and give him a bit of a boost.

She left about an hour later declining any lunch because she had some sort of casserole in the oven. Cate and I had cheesy jacket potatoes then after clearing up and checking all the doors and windows were locked, we collected everything up and set off for the church and its cemetery.

The last time I’d been here, we bumped into the Rev Peabody and I ended up going back to the vicarage for tea where he said or asked such intrusive and condescending questions about my gender change that I was blushing for a week. The problem was he didn’t realise he was doing it but at least he got my name right. I couldn’t remember if I’d had to breastfeed Cate in front of him, but it would have served him right if I had.

We seemed to be on our own in the cemetery which suited me fine and we located the grave in a few minutes after the last visit. The grass had recently been cut so walking over it was no problem despite the earlier rain. I approached the grave and immediately felt an emotional warmth there, something I’d never experienced in a cemetery before except at Tom’s family grave where of course Billie’s ashes are also interred.

I casually said, “Hi Mum, Dad, hope you’re okay.” Bit silly seeing as they’re both dead but what else can you say?

“Nanny,” said Cate and pointed at something I couldn’t see. “She wikes fwowers.”

“I’m glad. Hi Mum, hope Daddy is okay, thought I’d pop and see you and bring you a few flowers. I miss you so much.” I burst into tears and stood sobbing at the graveside while Cate held me around the top of my leg and told me that Nanny and Gwamps, wiked the fwowers and missed me too.

Just as I was about to leave the flowers in the vase on the grave Cate said excitedly, “Biwwie, it’s Biwwie, Mummy.” She trotted to the grave and seemed to be hugging someone I couldn’t see, the tears in my eyes not helping.

I said out loud, “I wish I could see and hug you, darling” and felt an icy coldness encompass me for a moment like two cold arms followed by a cold touch of something on my cheek, as if I’d been kissed. “Thank you, darling, take care of them, won’t you?”

In my mind’s eye I saw them walking away holding hands and looking down Cate seemed to be waving to them and they waved back. A few minutes later we returned to the car and after a quick drink of water, I collected my thoughts and drove us back to Portsmouth with a few minutes to spare before the others came out of school.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2639 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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“Billie said Nanny liked the flowers, Mummy,” said Trish quietly as the others got in the car.

“Yes, Cate said as much.”

“What she telling me for then?” pouted Trish.

“I think there might be a verb missing from that sentence, missy.”

“Bah, verbs, wirbs, burbs, knickers,” she muttered getting into the car. I decided I wouldn’t say anything because she hadn’t directly cheeked me, but she was close.

Back at home it was change and homework time. If the rush hour traffic hadn’t been building as we came home, I’d have taken a bike out on my own.

“I’ve told them in school that I have to go to the England training camp on Friday, Mummy.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said not really listening. I was lost in my own thoughts, my own parents appear to their granddaughter not me? My own daughter appears to her sister but not me. What is wrong with me?

“You didn’t hear that, Cathy, did you?”

“Mmm, fine,” I replied to David.

“Cathy, I'm resigning tonight after I poison you all, if that’s okay?”

“Poisson, yeah fine, David.” I strolled to the sink and rinsed out my cup.

“You’re forcing me to do this boss, okay?” he said half filling my cup with cold water.

“Yeah, carry on, David.” I turned away to go to my study when I was suddenly hit by a shock of cold water all down my back. I could feel it running down into my knickers. “What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?” I screeched at him. He smirked and handed me a towel. I heard footsteps come running but he sent them away.

“Like others, I was trying to attract your attention but you ignored me as you ignored your daughter when she was trying to say something of great importance to her.”

I allowed him to pat me dry on my back. “I might have been a bit distracted, I’m sorry.”

“A bit, I just said I was going to poison you all and you told me to carry on.”

“Oh,” I blushed, “That bad was it?”

“Yes it was.”

“I’m sorry, I went to visit my parent’s grave earlier, I guess I was still thinking about them.”

He shrugged.

“So you’re going to poison us, are you?”

“You told me I could.”

“David, your meals are to die for, but if I do you’d be out of a job.”

“I was taking that into account and asked for a million pounds and some plane tickets as well.”

“And I agreed to that?”

“Yep.”

“I was obviously more distracted than I thought. I hope that was clean water.”

“Only the best for you, ma’am.”

“Right, what did you say about my daughter?”

“Danielle said something about telling the school about her training camp on Friday.”

I felt myself blush as I walked to the pin board in the kitchen. It was on the calendar and tomorrow I had a dental appointment at nine. Good job I saw that. Poo, I’ve got a meeting at nine thirty. Damn, it’s too late to cancel either. Yesterday I’d have got angry with myself for failing to remember these things, but today I felt a little calmer. Was that good or a symptom of Alzheimer’s?

I went up and changed into some dry clothes then found Danielle. “If there’s anything you need for your training camp that needs washing, you’d better go and get it.”

“All been done, Jacquie asked me last night when you were making the tea.”

“Oh, all right. Got enough money?”

“Can always use a bit more, Mummy,” she smiled and batted her eyelids.

“That’s wasted on me, only works on daddies.”

“Worth a try,” she muttered back. I slipped her a twenty pound note. “Cor thanks, Mum; you’re the best.”

“Yeah, well if I hear you’ve conned your dad out of any extra, I’ll have it back.”

“Aww, Mum, how am I supposed to practice my begging?”

“Stand outside John Lewis’.”

“What?”

“Invented the steam engine.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Invented the steam engine.”

“Yeah, so?” she looked bemused.

“It’s more polite to say pardon than ‘what’. I demonstrated a teenager saying what.

“I didn’t look like that did I?”

“Well I didn’t make it up if that’s what you’re thinking.”

She blushed and glowered at me. Teenagers are such sport, they are so deliciously self conscious that they blush like stop lights at the drop of a hat. “You’re evil at times, you are.”

“If I was I’d take my money back.”

She blushed and glowered some more then gave me a beaming smile, “But today, you’re really wonderful, Mummy dearest.” Then she put her arm round me and pecked me on the cheek.

“Danielle Cameron, I’ve seen deeper puddles than you.”

Her response was a chuckle. I left her to her homework. Her results were holding up despite the increased level of training and football she was playing at. Lying on the desk beside her was the letter of instruction—Reading FC football ground again for ten on Friday.

I dashed off to my study—shit and double shit—I had a meeting at ten. I can’t take her. I know Simon can’t, oh hell, how do we get round this? First thing, go and see her and explain.

“Darling, I’m sorry, but neither Dad nor I can take you to Reading. I’m really sorry, I’ll have to see what I can do about it.”

“’S all right.”

“How can it be, we’ve got to get you a lift?”

“Sam is taking me.”

“She’ll be working, won’t she?”

“She’s going to stay with her friend at Bracknell.”

“Oh—is she?”

“Mum, she told you the other night but you were so bloody angry about something or other, you weren’t listening. You weren’t listening when I came out and told you I had the training weekend, were you?”

Now I blushed. “I went up to put some flowers on my parent’s grave, it affected me more than I thought. I’m sorry, darling.”

She hugged me, “We know, Billie came to tell us. She said you were upset.”

I felt tears dribble down my cheeks. “You saw Billie?”

“We do now and again.”

“How is it that I never see her?”

“She thinks it would upset you too much.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

“I dunno, do I? That’s what she says an’ judgin’ by the way you get upset talkin’ about her, she might be right.”

“I’m not upset,” I said trying to remember if I had any makeup still on before I rubbed it all over my face.

“What’s this then, hay fever?” she asked handing me some tissues.

“You’ll understand better when you have children.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.”

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“For a professor you can be awfy thick.” She’d been listening to Daddy again or reading Oor Wullie.

“What d’you mean?”

She shook her head, “I can’t have children, can I?”

“You could always adopt, I did.”

“Yeah, but you’re special.”

“No more than you.”

“Ha very funny. Like I’m going to become a professor—come off it, Mum, you are special, you had to be to look after us.”

“Okay, you can be a little challenging at times but...”

“Look, it was all pre arranged.”

“What was?”

“All of this.”

I sat down on her bed. “All of what?” She rolled her eyes and sat next to me as if it was going to take some time.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2640 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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“Pre-arranged as in planned and fate and predestination?” I muttered to Danielle.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s right with it?”

“I don’t get you.”

“Fate, kismet, karma, call it what you will is all nonsense invented by religions to try and explain things they couldn’t understand. So if you seemed to have loads of bad things happen and claim to have prayed to your god for help but the bad things kept on happening, your priest would suggest you deserved it.”

“So if bad things happen it’s because you deserve it?”

“That’s why this all powerful, all seeing god hasn’t helped you, because you brought it upon yourself.”

“What about babies, do they bring it on themselves and they can have bad things happen? Natalie Wilmott’s baby brother has awful things wrong with his heart, did he bring that upon himself?”

“So the church says or used to.”

“How can a baby do anything wrong? That’s total rubbish.”

“I agree, but one of the founding fathers of Christianity a bloke called Irenaeus developed the idea of Original Sin from the fall of man which was about Adam rebelling from god in the Garden of Eden. I think St Augustine also went on about it as well but then he was so up his own backside, he was more constipated than consecrated.” Danielle chuckled at my narrative. “So being descended from Adam, we’re all sinners one way or another.”

“But that sounds stupid.”

“It gets worse, if you’re not baptised as an infant especially if you have problems like your friend’s baby brother and die, you can’t go to heaven, so the babies go to limbo in one model or to hell in another.”

“But Jesus said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me,’ I’ve heard it quoted enough times.”

“Two things, Jesus was a Jew, not a Christian. Christianity came from his followers and was originally a Jewish sect, until Paul got his paws on it and turned it into something different. I suspect were Jesus to return, assuming he ever came the first time, he wouldn’t recognise the current religion in any shape or form. It’s been hijacked by psychopaths ever since who use it and the scriptures to commit all sorts of crimes but because they’re doing god’s work or opus dei, they’re absolved of any of it.”

“Children don’t go to hell, do they?” Danielle looked quite anxious.

“The only hell is this world and we make it for ourselves or for others. The biblical hell is nonsense and a later idea to frighten the gullible.”

“But it’s dreadful, Sister Ignatius is always telling us girls we’ll go straight to hell if we do sex and things.”

“And you believe her?”

She blushed, “Um...”

“How can there be a hell for doing what comes naturally?”

“It’s okay in marriage.”

“But for a whole millennium the church wasn’t interested in marriage. People used to have to get married outside it, it was a legal thing. Then they saw it as a way of generating income and further controlling people, so they took it over and have caused would be newlyweds trouble ever since. I mean, marriages done in church are only allowed because the state allows the priest to act as a registrar and all the mumbo jumbo stuff beforehand except the declaration that each of the parties enter into it freely is irrelevant. All that counts is the signing of the register and it being witnessed. That is a legally binding contract, the rest is pure crowd pleasing stuff.”

“You know such a lot, Mummy.”

“It was rammed down my throat as a kid until I told them to stick it, then I spent even longer hours trying to find evidence to disprove all of it.”

“Did you—find proof.”

“Lots of it.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I agreed with all of you that you could attend religious education lessons if you wanted or opt out if you wanted. Sister Maria, agreed the same to me, so she would support you if you opted out.”

“Is all Christianity such crap?” she looked somewhat disenchanted.

“All religions can be beneficial to the believer or restrain, confine and destroy him.”

“Sounds more like the latter, to me.”

“Danielle, Christianity is full of the most wonderful encouragements to help each other, which comes from Judaism. If people heeded this social awareness stuff it would be wonderful, instead they’d rather fight wars over who said what and the context. I’m sure the same is true for all the major religions but they’ve all been hijacked by psychopaths who read bits of the scriptures very narrowly and apply them as narrowly and rigidly as they possibly can. Then they have the cheek to suggest their god said it was right.”

“So it’s all a load of cobras.”

“The story of the serpent is, yes.” I refused to look at her understanding of the fable or allegory, if she did understand she got house points. It pushed her ahead on the chart above her arch rival, Trish. Neither listened to the facts so frequently got their interpretation of the chief protagonists badly wrong. Oh to be young and innocent again, although at her age I was just reaching my own conclusions helped by all sorts of factors and research I had done myself. I hated religion, seeing it as a con trick on the masses by priests who played games with them. Some probably believe it themselves but would have to be somewhat deluded or dumb to ignore the evidence against it.

"Evidence for evolution is overwhelming but I get sick and tired of hearing so called Christians denying it by suggesting that the world is only four thousand years old according to archbishop Usher who calculated all the times mentioned in the new testament. They suggest carbon dating is invalid because of all the fallout from atomic weapons saying it affects the calculations of the carbon isotopes. As they’re comparing carbon with Strontium which is another element it shows they have no idea."

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2641 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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“Six months, Mrs Cameron,” smiled my dental surgeon, Amy Wilde. It had been a rush to get there and I was on the phone to Delia when I was called into the surgey for my exam. Usually I have one of the kids with me but last time I came with them I had a rotten cold with a hacking cough so they saw everyone bar me, who had to wait two months for the appointment. We were all out of sync now but that was the least of my problems.

I had asked Delia to warn the secretary of the Professorial Council, a different one to the University Council, more concerned with academic matters than the politics of running a university, that I would possibly be a tad late. When I arrived at the office, Delia told me that the secretary wasn’t impressed as I’d known about the meeting for three months. As I was one of the more recent members I suppose I should have felt a little chastened but I felt like offering her the finger and telling her to swivel—pompous cow, and she is only a reader not a professor.

I ambled along to the committee room and feeling all the members’ eyes were upon me, sat down with a degree of elegance in the only chair available. I nodded at the chairman, Professor Mullins from the department of medical jurisprudence—a very clever chap. He smiled back and said quietly, “Glad you could make it, Lady Cameron.” I smiled and nodded back to him. The secretary’s eyeballs nearly came out on stalks. Seems like not everyone knows my alter ego. I wondered if we could build a bat cave under Tom’s house, if the meeting got boring, I could day dream about that instead.

“We were just discussing the concerns about the quality of new entrants, despite reasonable A S levels, several departments have observed what they consider to be a reduction in the quality of the intake students which they believe is being shown in the quality of their work during the first and second terms.”

I waited while the rest of the members muttered rather than said anything directly. Oh well here goes, “Given that many of them will be coming straight from school and will also be away from home for the first time shouldn’t we accept that the first term is often more about them making the transition from school kids to undergraduates and attempt to integrate them rather than worry too much about academic standards? In my own department we devote most of the first term to doing just that and usually be early in the second one they’re working much more successfully.”

One or two nodded, some others gave me hostile looks and two others were astonished—how can someone get to be a professor and have no cognitive functions? The secretary gave me several more hostile looks during the meeting, in fact every time I said anything.

The meeting closed after two hours of more boring inanities, the secretary scribbling frantically into an A4 pad. Date of next meeting was set and I added it to my diary—academic variety of course.

As we they were leaving I made small talk with one or two others, the chairman wished me a good lunch and disappeared. I walked up to Josephine Charteris, the secretary of the meeting and as she was putting her pencils away in a zip up pencil case—I’d replaced my Waterman in its leather case and placed it back in my lap top bag.

“Exactly what is your problem, Josephine?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Every time you looked at me today I got a definite sense of hostility, I’d like to know why that was.”

“You were late.”

“Five minutes.”

“Late is late. I was brought up to believe tardiness was lack of commitment or discipline.”

“I see, so you fumed at me for two hours because I was five minutes late?”

“Yes.”

“Are you always so dedicated to such single mindedness.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t believe you. Oh you were cross because I was a few minutes late but I felt your hostility ramp up when I was addressed as Lady Cameron. I take it you weren’t aware of my married name?”

“I knew someone on the staff had bagged a title, I didn’t know it was you.”

“So why the hostility?”

“You’re mistaken, it was surprise not hostility.”

“I don’t think so. I think it was pure jealousy.”

“Nonsense.”

“Is it? Could it not be because not only have I made it to professor quicker than you, but I’ve married an aristocrat who happens to own a bank plus a castle in Scotland and have a whole load of children?”

“I’d be careful about making such allegations.”

“So how come your prof is on long term sick leave and they haven’t temporarily upgraded you to cover it?”

“I don’t live with the dean.”

“Simon and I were sharing Tom Agnew’s house long before I was asked to cover his secondment to the dean’s office.”

“Didn’t do you any harm though did it?”

“I think I know why you enjoy Physical Anthropology so much.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yeah, you’re really at home playing around with dead bodies being closer to them than living ones.”

“You’ll regret that, you stuck up bitch.”

“Not tonight, Josephine—story of your life, eh? And you started it. Bye.” I walked out before she said something which would provoke me into clocking her one, much as I’d enjoy it.

Later, at lunch with Tom I related the story of the meeting and he looked concerned. “Be careful with her, she has a memory like an elephant...”

“And a face to match,” I smirked.

“...I wis gang tae say, she nivver forgets an’ will save her powder until she can really harm ye.”

“But why should she want to, until now I’d never said much to her at all.”

“Perhaps she is jealous o’ ye.”

“But that is crazy.”

“Aye, that’s women f’ ye.”

“I suppose so—hey, what d’you mean that’s women for you?”

He sat chuckling as I rose to the bait once again. “Miserable Scottish git,” I muttered under my breath and he laughed so hard he was in danger of harming himself.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2642 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 opened my diary and suddenly realised that come Saturday I was supposed to be helping with a dormouse survey and someone had to go and collect Danielle. Then I realised that Danielle would only be away during Friday, so I could collect her on Friday evening if Sammi wasn’t coming back from Bracknell. I’d need to check that, also check to see if Danni wanted to come dormousing with me. That would mean asking Jacquie or Helen to watch the others.

“Professor, there’s someone here to see you?”

“Oh” I wasn’t expecting anyone. I rose and went to my office door. “Professor Mullins, an unexpected pleasure, do come in. Tea?”

“No thank you, Lady Cameron.”

“This sounds rather formal?” I asked sensing his mood was unusually frosty.

“Yes, I’ve had a complaint from Dr Charteris about your behaviour during and after the meeting this morning.”

“During? You were there, did you see anything going on?”

He blushed, “No I didn’t. However, she claims that you were casting unpleasant faces at her.”

I laughed, “You’re joking?” but the look on his face showed he wasn’t. “You’re not joking are you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But she was the one scowling at me because I was a few minutes late.”

“She seems to think it was the other way round, she also alleged that you made some unpleasant accusations after the meeting, claiming that she was ugly and unable to find a man.”

“I did not. I suggested that she was making faces at me because she was jealous of me. What really seemed to set it off was your address of me as Lady Cameron, that really got some sour looks.”

“I don’t recall seeing any, are you sure?”

“I’m positive. She’s jealous because I got a professorship before her and that I married an aristocrat, while she’s stuck on the shelf.”

“That’s quite an accusation to make, Lady Cameron.”

“I’m not the one making accusations, that’s Josephine Charteris all of which are based upon malice. This is like a schoolyard squabble but that’s because where she seems to be stuck.”

“She alleges that you instigated all of this.”

“For what reason?”

“You dislike her.”

“I do now, but I didn’t before she gave me the evil eye at the meeting.”

“She also alleges you told her that she was closer to the dead than the living.”

“i told her that she was suited to her specialty because of that yes, by then we exchanged a couple of insults.”

“I see.”

“She accused me of sleeping my way to my chair.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t help being younger than her,” or prettier.

“No of course, so you consider it to be a storm in a teacup?”

“Exactly. If she thinks I insulted her then I am happy to apologise providing she does the same to me.”

“ I have my doubts that she’s ready to do that.”

“Alas, so I do I, but she’s making the most of it by the sound of things.”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“Look we had a minor spat after she gave me funny looks. I am happy to forget all about it, after all it’s her word against mine. But her accusations against me were worse than mine to her. If she maintains her accusations then I may be forced to consult my counsel and issue a writ for slander.”

“Um, don’t you consider that’s a bit of an over the top reaction, Lady Cameron?”

“I’m not allowing a sad old crone to impugn me without there being consequences. If she withdraws her accusation then I’ll forget about it. If she doesn’t then I have to insist she resigns from the committee as she isn’t a professor, either that or my department will have to withdraw from sitting on it until my legal action is completed. If she loses, I don’t have to tell you what the consequences are likely to be.”

“Indeed not. Look, let me talk to her again.”

“She’ll accuse me of bullying her or making threats to wipe her out financially. That isn’t my intention, my only concern is to protect my reputation, apart from my chair here I’m also a director of High Street Bank and obviously the wife of another director whose reputation is essential for his work, as is my own. I cannot therefore walk away from the accusations made by a bitter old woman which are patently untrue.”

“I see.”

“She made the accusations to you?”

“Yes.”

“I may well call you as a witness then, sorry.”

“I see, that hadn’t occurred to me.”

“So if you can talk her out of this madness, it will save me some time and legal fees and her a potentially very damaging legal battle, not to mention how that would reflect upon the university.”

“Indeed. You’re not seeking an apology?”

“I doubt I’d get one. Look, I’m not trying to destroy her but if she starts something she has to realise the consequences and once it begins, it will run its course.”

“Are you still using Jason White?”

“I am, we retain him for the bank and family business.”

“Very clever chap, seen him in action a couple of times.”

“Well that’s who she’d be up against.”

“I’ll speak to her.”

“I would.”

He went off and I emailed Jason to keep him up to date with my various bits and pieces, including this one. Most of the time, once it was known he was representing us, the opposition settled out of court. I didn’t blame them at his rates, a couple or three days could run into hundreds of thousands of pounds in legal fees.

In some ways I know I was bullying her but she started it. Perhaps I should have let things lie and just walked away from the meeting, but I didn’t and now have to deal with it and all of it because she hasn’t made a chair yet nor got herself a man. If it went to court, it would be one for the tabloids, for sure.

I told Delia I was going to collect the girls, I’d had enough of the day anyway. Once at the school I checked with Danni that it was just a training session and she agreed, it was just Friday afternoon/evening. I wondered what chance she had to get into the women’s team without someone doing her damage, especially if they suspect she could take their place—and let’s face it, she is probably good enough to do so.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2643 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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When I checked with Sammi, she was taking and collecting Danielle from the football training. Danni was pretty smug about going in the BMW Z whatever it was. Personally, I’d rather go in a series 7 Beamer, much more comfy than the thing Sammi has, but she loves it. Actually Simon’s two Jaguars are a nicer ride but they are a bit more expensive. He’s never told me what they cost but the latest one, the F type, lovely looking car, runs out at about eighty thousand pounds for the basic one; mind you, I discovered mine was over forty—but I wouldn’t swap it for all the tea in China.

On Thursday evening I told Danni to make sure she had everything she needed for her training session. She protested but went when she saw I wasn’t messing about and discovered she hadn’t packed any socks and her boots—so it could have been somewhat embarrassing to say the least; plus if opportunities are missed they don’t necessarily present themselves again.

David had done a delicious dinner which we all enjoyed, he did a leg of pork with all the trimmings including crackling which went down a treat with the kids. Given the amount of fat in it and the fact that I don’t want to break my teeth, I tend to avoid it, but the girls love it. I also prefer boiled potatoes to roast ones but I ate them to avoid seeming too picky to David who does his best for us.

I sounded Helen and Jacquie out about Saturday saying that I had to lead a dormouse survey and they were both going to be around and happy to keep an eye on the children. I was almost tempted to take Trish or Livvie with me, but they’re just a bit small and dealing with rough undergrowth isn’t really fair for them. I mentioned it to Danni but only if she felt up to it after her training session. She said she hoped to be up for it but would have to see.

Thursday evening finished with me reading to the girls something I haven’t done for ages, after which I snuggled down with Simon with a glass of Merlot and we just spent a pleasant hour or so before going to bed.

Friday morning was frantic getting Danni off on time, then getting the others into the car for school when they’d rather stand and dither watching their big sisters getting ready. To be fair to them, they all hugged and kissed her and wished her good luck. I simply told her just to do her best and be careful because there would be some who took a dim view of her abilities and would seek to take her down a peg. I also told Sammi to drive carefully.

When I finally got to my office I felt like I’d done a day’s work already and it took more than one cuppa to revive me. Once I got back into gear again we did plough through a pile of paperwork about half a mile high. Some of it is tedious in the extreme, like applying for licenses to run experiments or to enable us to handle things like dormice, one was my own license for dormice, shrews and water voles. Daddy used to have one for handling bats but he doesn’t do much of that sort of stuff anymore and he let it lapse.

We don’t do much experimental work these days involving animals, both Tom and I have moved us more towards ecology and surveys or examining things like parasites such as nematodes found in the gut of various animals. We’ve also got a chap in microbiology who is very involved in trying to save bees from diseases, parasites and pesticides. Not only does he study them, he keeps bees and could only be described as a committed apiarist. In a recent reshuffle we took over microbiology in an administrative sense, so they were incorporated into the Dept of Biological Sciences, being a relatively small department before—so my empire has grown a little since I’ve been there; not that much of it was down to me, Daddy had done the spade work, I just presented it and pulled off the coup.

Our little friend from Physical Anthropology visited briefly with Professor Mullins and we agreed to end our hostilities shaking hands in front of him. I told Daddy what had happened and he told me never to turn my back on a smiling cobra. I’m not sure where he got the aphorism but I told him I had no intention of believing her sincerity one bit and would watch my back at all times when she was around. He told me to watch out when she wasn’t as well. As they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

It struck me as strange that I was becoming one of the most senior or certainly most respected academic in the scientific side of the university simply because my intake numbers were bigger than most other courses, I’d made two documentary films which had been shown to some acclaim, was married to an aristocrat and was also a director of a clearing bank. I considered that my work with the woodland study centres in Hampshire and up in Scotland, were of equal importance as that would ultimately be my legacy to future generations. Dan had reported that they were now back on track with preparing the centre for an official opening which would involve Henry and me—I hate that sort of thing, but I couldn’t avoid it and wouldn’t if I could because I wanted to celebrate the life of my daughter which was remembered in the visitor centre’s name. So on her behalf, I would be there if it killed me. St Claire’s were down on the list for the first school visit, Sister Maria made sure of that.

I certainly couldn’t complain of nothing to do and to keep things interesting, we had decorators in at home. They were doing the bedrooms, starting with ours—Simon and mine, that is. So everything will be upside down and smelling of paint for a few days—just what I needed.

On Friday evening, Simon and I decided to sleep in the spare room to avoid touching or smelling wet paint, they were returning on Saturday morning to finish our room and starting on the girls on Monday—we’ll have some furniture shifting to do on Sunday evening—what joy.

I was just about ready for bed when our two wanderers returned. Danielle was like a bottle of pop, absolutely fizzing. It had gone better than she expected and in the two games they played she scored twice. She was the best spot kick taker they had and did a number of bendy free kicks, they were calling her Beckham before she finished, not helped by the fact that she wore the Beckham No 7 shirt to play in. I told her if she started getting tattoos she’d be out the door so quickly her feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

Reminding her we had a fairly early start in the morning for our survey, I went to bed, leaving her talking to Simon about the fact that she felt sure she was in for a chance for a place on the bench if not in the team for the next women’s international. I felt so proud of her but was just plain knackered.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2644 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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Danni came on as substitute, the Dutch were causing them all sorts of trouble and it was decided to throw all into attack and see if it caused a disruption to the Dutch plan. Within minutes, Danni seemed to galvanise the team and she was involved in two attacks which caused the Dutch to scramble a defence to keep the England girls from scoring.

For the next ten minutes England dominated, all because Danni came back to midfield and started to put moves together. Twice she got taken down by a cynical Dutch defender and the referee seemed oblivious of it. Each time should have been a foul and a free kick. Then switching wings she romped away up the left of the field and then cut inside the fullback before the other fullback who’d sliced her down before took her out a third time. I could see it coming and this time Danni was rolling about holding her leg.

I drew down the light and hurled a ball of it at her it hit her and for a moment she seemed surrounded in a cloud of blue light, then she stood up and taking the ball placed it where the referee said the foul was committed. Still glistening in a blue light once the referee blew to play ball, she took the free kick and it swerved out to the right before sluicing back to the left at tremendous pace to zip into the left top corner of the goal. The goal keeper didn’t move. England 1 Holland 0.

The Dutch kicked off but a long pass was intercepted by an English woman who passed it to the general in the centre of the pitch—my Danni. She beat two players and sent the left winger off up the touchline where she beat the defender and crossed into the goal. It was headed away by Danielle’s nemesis but only as far as Danni, who taking it on the volley, blasted it straight back at the goal from thirty yards. On its way it smacked into the face of the dirty Dutch defender and ricocheted into the goal. England were now two goals up, both scored by Danielle.

The Dutchwoman was taken off with concussion and a suspected broken nose. The second half was at times frantic, but Danielle stayed resolute in the midfield, not her normal place of operation, but her football brain as well as her skills helped her to set up movements which had the Dutch defending most of the half. In the last few minutes, they did manage to claw one back although everyone but the referee saw the blatant handball by the Dutch captain which tipped the ball over the goalkeeper’s reach and into the net. Talk about the ‘hand of god’ incident in the World Cup by Diego Maradona, this had to be a close second—maybe the Holy Ghost was involved in this one?

In the final minutes, England, kicked off and a quick through ball from Danni to their right winger caught the Dutch napping and she put over a cross which Danielle ran towards but stepped over leaving it for her colleague. The feint worked and the England number ten hit it just inside the right hand post leaving the keeper stranded. The referee blew for full time before the game could be restarted. Danielle was applauded off the pitch and I felt so proud. An hour later we met up and she simply said. “Thanks for the help, Mum, I know my leg was broken but it healed in a second, can you take this blue light off me now, it’s stopping me from eating chocolate.”

I woke up bathed in sweat, in my dream I’d done as much running as Danni had. I went for a wee. I was two o’clock. Simon was snoring ‘Colonel Bogie’ and I changed my nightdress for a dry one. At seven I got up, washed and dressed in my mousing clothes and roused Danielle. After a quick breakfast we drove out to the university. Delia was astonished to see us, she was so excited, hoping and praying to see a dormouse in the wild. Danni winked at me and we both smiled. We had two other people who came with us to site four. We had forty nest boxes to check and only Danni and I had ever done it before. Oh well, this could be fun.

The other two followed my Jaguar out to the forestry plantation and we parked in a layby. We collected up the stuff we needed, a spring balance, a small plastic bag, a large clear plastic bag, a notebook and pen, my chip-reader—so we could identify already marked mice, and a map of the site showing the location of each box.

We set off at a brisk walk and got to the first box. I carefully showed them how to check them and over the next half hour they each got to do one. Then we had a signal that one with nesting material had been found. It was taken off the tree and the hole on the back plugged with a cloth. Then into the large bag and the lid was taken off. It was a dormouse nest all right. I showed them how to probe the nest with my finger and out popped a dormouse. I checked there were no others or babies. Then removed the nest box so as to avoid squashing the mouse with it.

The next thing is to capture said mouse, which is done by trapping it into a corner and transferring it to the hand. Then it was placed in the small bag and weighed. Once that was done, I checked it with our scanner and we got an identity number. We recorded the box number, the mouse number and its weight after which it was returned to the box, the box returned to the tree and the plug removed.

We repeated it five more times, yes we had six mice and everyone had a chance to handle a dormouse, pictures being taken as they did so. I texted the coordinator to say we’d finished and we returned to the university and dropped Delia off. She was so pleased with herself she went off home with a silly grin on her face.

“Cor, anyone would think she’d just had sex for the first time,” said Danni as we got back into the car.

“How would you know that?” I asked watching her blush like a traffic light.

“I saw it in a film.”

“Not read it in a book then?”

“I saw Julie and Sammi the night they got screwed for the first time. They had this stupid grin on their faces, just like Delia did.”

“I’m thinking of offering her a place to study ecology at the university.”

“What—can you do that?”

“I think so, problem is I need a secretary more than I need students.”

“What if she loses the novelty?”

“I don’t think she will, she’s become increasingly involved with the department, including attending lectures when she wasn’t too busy. I’ve never seen a secretary do that before.”

“She’s keen then?”

“Just a bit,” I smiled. “Oh who are England ladies playing next?”

“Holland, next month, why?”

Did I mention my dream or not?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2645 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 decided to keep quiet about the dream as it may never be more than a dream, a figment of my unconscious; however, I shall endeavour to be at that match and watch to see what happens. Big Bertha got her comeuppance in the end but what happens if I’m unable to fix Danielle’s leg?

It wasn’t worth thinking about. If I couldn’t fix it, they could lose the game and she could lose her career just as it’s beginning. Life can be awfully cruel, but not as cruel as humans. I just learned that seven deer were found with bite marks on their rear ends suggesting they were harried by dogs, then their throats were cut and they were disembowelled. Two others in a similar state were found a few miles away. This was in Dorset, near Poole and Bournemouth. Whatever happened it was illegal but it suggests that dogs like lurchers were involved and some very callous humans.

I’m aware deer have to be culled or we’d be overrun with them, but this sort of cruelty has no place anywhere on this planet. I was glad to hear the police were asking for witnesses so they could try to stop such disgraceful behaviour. Hunting with dogs is illegal, though it’s been suggested the Tories will bring back foxhunting. If they do, it will guarantee I never ever vote for them again, not that I’m likely to anyway, but it would guarantee it. Personally, I’d like to see Tory hunting made legal. They desperately need culling as we’re greatly overrun by them, easily distinguished by vacuous expressions, total self interest, and lack of compassion.

Of course people will disagree with me but that’s their right, which is more than the poor fox had.

I suppose we should be grateful that the deer species that were killed are numerous unlike black rhinos, which are virtually extinct because of poaching for Chinese traditional medicine or Arab dagger handles. Both are repulsive and in the case of the former, based on systems which have more in common with magic than science.

The future of wild species of birds and animal is looking bleaker and bleaker as humans swarm all over the face of the planet destroying all it touches. Climate change will ultimately mean the only polar bears that exist will be in zoos, half the species of birds in the UK are in decline, some dangerously so which coupled with mass shootings all along the Mediterranean coasts, means that migrants such as swallows are present in smaller numbers each year. Species like cuckoo are quite rare despite the call being iconic. Skylarks are declining rapidly because of changes to farming practice hay giving way to silage.

It’s not only farmers, the increased use of land for housing or commercial purposes means that habitats are disappearing or becoming fragmented which affects the breeding viability and gene pool of more sedentary species such as dormice. Unfortunately, the species who thrive with humans, such as the brown rat Rattus norvegicus, seem to do well whatever we do and will probably be here after Homo sapiens has long disappeared—possibly as a consequence of its own folly.

“Why couldn’t we come with you?” asked an angry Trish with Livvie offering her physical by standing beside her sister and nodding in agreement.

“Come where?”

“Dormousing, we know what to do, don’t we, Liv?”

“The car was full, I had some new people to show what to do, didn’t I, Danielle?”

“Yes, Mum.” She then disappeared to have a shower and probably go back to bed.

“Like who?” demanded our resident genius.

“I’m not standing here and bandying words with a nine year old,” I blustered and for a moment Trish was dumbstruck. I retreated to my study and told her to find something to do as I had to upload figures to the survey coordinator. These would then come back to me along with the rest of the surveys being undertaken which would then be integrated with the rest of the data we had.

For the moment, we’re doing quite well with our dormouse figures but it only takes something like a cold winter or wet one to upset that. The data is important because it tends to suggest what works and what doesn’t with regard to release and conservation. With other species it tends to indicate where resources need to be allocated. For instance if the government was really adamant in its supposed control of grey squirrel numbers it would be interested in encouraging pine martens to breed as there appears to be a direct correlation between the presence of pine marten and decline in grey squirrel population—as per the Irish study.

David did us homemade sausage and mash and it was delicious as it always is. This time he made chicken sausages with leek and mushroom—they were out of this world and everyone wanted more. The pot of potato he has to do is quite frightening, it’s almost like a cauldron—perhaps I should get him a pointed hat.

Helen showed me a picture of a breast plate worn by a French cuirassier at Waterloo who had been hit by a cannonball—it had a punched a hole right through the armour and the unfortunate man inside it. He would have died pretty well instantly. He was identified as a twenty three year old Frenchman. According to the article in her paper, the heavy cavalry were feared by infantry during the Napoleonic wars. However, the usual defence was to shoot the horse from under them. If this happened the rider would be trapped under his mount, unable to move because of his armour and could be killed at leisure.

The French cuirassiers were equipped with a pistol and long stabbing sword. Apparently, the British cavalry who were lighter and armed with sabres found that if they could get in closely to the French, the long sword was useless and the rider could be unhorsed by punching him in the face, or as they went by a sabre slash to the back of the head/neck area tended to stop them.

I shuddered when I saw the details if this inhumanity to each other in the name of empire or whatever other grandiose term they had. But most revolting was the use of teeth extracted from the corpses at Waterloo to make dentures—imagine wearing a denture made from the teeth of soldiers who’d died in battle—it doesn’t bear thinking about. It’s coming up to the two hundredth anniversary of Waterloo on the 18th of June, which ended for good Napoleon’s campaign and made Arthur Wellesley a household name as the Duke of Wellington.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2646 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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“We’d like to come the next time you go dormousing,” Trish and Livvie were back.

“Okay, I’ll let you know when I go again.”

“When is that likely to be?”

“I don’t know, I’m too busy to go very often and they only let me know last time because they were short of licence holders.”

“What like a driving license?” asked Livvie.

That’ll teach me to make assumptions, I thought they all knew about licensing for protected animals. Obviously I was in error. “Certain animals are protected by law.”

“Yeah, we know that.”

“So what d’you think that protection means?” I asked trying to ascertain what they actually did know.

“They’re protected, if you touch one we can call the police.”

“That’s right but it also means if you want to touch one you have to have special permission which means you have to have a licence.”

“What is a licence exactly?” she asked. Never assume anything about children.

“It’s permission to do things or have things.”

“Have things?”

“Yeah,” offered Trish, “A driving licence means you can have a drive.”

“What—you need a licence for a drive? D’you need one for a path as well?”

“No—stoopid.”

“Well Mummy said it was to have things as well...”

“Uh yes I did. I meant firearms mainly. You have to have a licence to keep a gun.”

“D’you need one to shoot people too?”

“No, the licence is to keep the gun—usually a shotgun but some people have hunting rifles as well. What isn’t allowed is any sort of handgun, like a pistol.”

“Why?”

“Because of a series of shootings, the last was at a school in Scotland at Dunblane, which is where Andy Murray comes from.”

“Andy Murray shot people in Scotland?”

“No, he lives in the town where some man went on the rampage with a hand gun and shot several children and staff.”

“I thought he lived in Spain,” added Trish.

“I have no idea where he lives these days but he’s from Dunblane and some man shot school kids and teachers there some years ago.”

“He got married there,” observed our resident genius.

“Yes a few weeks ago,” I agreed.

“He bought the hotel.”

“Yes he did,” I agreed again.
“He’s a tennis player, so does he have a licence?”

“To play tennis?” Trish almost gasped at her sister.

“No, for a gun, dopey.”

“I have no idea. Look let’s bring it back to dormice, I know what I’m talking about with them.”

“Do dormice have licences for guns?” Said Trish almost falling about laughing.

“Yeah to shoot weasels an’ things,” said Livvie getting in on the act.

“They’d have to be rather small—is that what they mean by small arms, Mummy?” this was followed by a further fit of giggles.

I had to wait until they’d finished wiping their eyes before saying anything. “Let’s not be silly, shall we?” There were one or two small starts but my stare stopped them in mid merriment. “People who touch or disturb or harm animals mentioned in the Wildlife and Countryside Act, have to have a licence to disturb take or kill the named animals.”

“Kill?” they both gasped.

“Yes, sometimes people studying animals have to kill them for lots of reasons. Usually that part requires clarification, so it’s not just a licence to kill them. Things like badgers and otters are covered.”

“Dormice an’—anything else, Mummy?”

“Water voles and shrews plus all the species of bats in this country.”

“How you catch a bat, Mummy.”

“It usually refers to disturbing them in places like roofs or bell towers.”

“Da bells, da bells...” they both bent over and began making faces and walking sideways parodying Charles Lawton’s Quasimodo. How, he died years before they were born?

“Very funny. So d’you understand now about licensing?”

“How d’you get one?”

“You have to apply to Natural England and be sponsored by two other licence holders.”

“That’s not easy then?”

“No, not just anyone can apply for one, so not just anyone can go poking about in dormouse nests.”

“The dormouse is a bonny bird, it flits from bough to bough...” began Livvie.

“It makes its nest in a rhubarb tree and whistles like a cow,” finished Trish which had them both calling moo at each other. I eventually set them a job to do to make a list of all the animals protected by the Act and they scurried off to switch on their computers or iPads.

I’d barely been able to deal with a few emails before they were back with pages of stuff they’d printed off the internet. “I didn’t ask you to print it all off, I’ve got a copy of it over there, somewhere.” I pointed to the bookshelves.

“So what did you want then?” I was surprised Trish hadn’t added some soubriquet like ‘clever dick’.

“I asked you to compile a list of all the animals protected by the schedule.”

“You said Act not schedule.”

Oh boy, “It means the same. What I wanted you to do was to write me a list of all the animals given protection. Anyone could print it off but I wanted you to understand as well as just find it.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“I just did.”

“Grrr, c’mon, Liv,” they went off again.

Jacquie put the youngsters to bed while I struggled with an email from someone who wanted loads of information. I suggested they contact the university library who may be able to help. I had better things to do than act as an unpaid researcher for someone else’s degree. If they ask me for permission to quote my stuff or use it in a paper, that’s a different matter, at least they’ve read it.

It was nearly an hour later that the two brains returned with a sheet covered in the names of UK animals. I pointed out that they’d missed off protected reptiles and they groaned and returned to their lists. Well if they were going to do something properly; this after arguing that reptiles weren’t animals. We had a debate on what animals were—not just mammals or warm blooded things like birds and mammals. It would also include anything in the animal kingdom, so tomorrow they can look that up and tell me what it means. Okay, I’m trying to stop them becoming vegetables or was that vegetating?

I did get them to bed eventually, they were trying to guess what was in the animal list and I was trying to get them to relax for sleep. In the end I read them one of Kipling’s Just So Stories it did the trick and they finally went to sleep.

When I went two hours later, I didn’t need a story, just Simon asking if I fancied a bit of... I was asleep before he finished the sentence—or so he thought.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2647 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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Poor old Simon muttered to himself for several minutes unable to see me smirking as I was facing away from him. He cuddled into the back of me and went off to sleep before I did. Nothing much keeps him awake, including once or twice being involved in supposedly pleasuring his wife—in other words the lazy sod fell asleep on the bloody job, my pleasure unmet. In all fairness he offered to finish the job the next night but I’d gone off the idea by then and it gave me a stick to poke him with.

Don’t get me wrong, we love each other—I love him and he says the same about me—and we’re good friends too; but there is a need to fight one’s own corner, so to speak, including sexual needs and rights. He’s quite vocal about his, I’m much quieter because I suspect my needs are less—or less frequent. Gosh, I’m blushing even thinking about this—jeez, I’m thirty one and still embarrassed by sex. I don’t consider myself a prude or anything but thinking about it or worse, talking about it makes me glow hotter than a sun spot. Though I admit I have needs and sometimes that’s just for a kiss and cuddle and sometimes for something more energetic. Can you believe that after turning a blind ear or a deaf eye to Simon’s suggestion—I only pretended to be dead—I fell asleep thinking about sex and wishing I’d perhaps done so earlier. It did cross my mind to wake him but knowing my luck I’d just be coming up to simmer when he finished and fell asleep again.

I didn’t wake up thinking about sex, it was more fundamental than that, I wondered what day it was as my consciousness began to surface from the depths of sleep. I could have done with another hour—no make that five or six—of sleep, but it was my turn to get Lizzie up. I’m no longer breast-feeding her she’s on cow’s milk now plus solids, but most mornings she wakes up sodden. She drinks quite a bit and what goes in must come out and it does, despite two terry towelling nappies, she almost floats in her own cot.

Checking she was still asleep, I quickly showered and dressed before quietly waking the school girl contingent and the workers. While they were sorting themselves I got Lizzie from her cot and washed and changed her in my en suite. By the time I’d dressed her the others were washed and dressed in school uniforms—it must be Monday morning again—bugger, I had a full schedule today of meetings about funding and other exciting things. Still someone has to do it and they pay me according to the amount of boredom I have to suffer, or at times it seems that way. However, after I caused mayhem in the accounts department, they tend to treat me more respectfully—well that’s how it comes across, it might just be plain fear as I don’t take prisoners—been mucked about too often.

After breakfast, during which Julie let drop they were signing a lease on a bigger shop, they shot off with embarrassed giggles before I could ask any questions—too busy shovelling porridge down Lizzie. I began to realise how a stoker felt on board an old fashioned steamer. Can this girl eat? It’s like having a captive blue whale at the table.

The others, except Cate, feed themselves, even making toast—we have a large toaster which can do six slices at once—so my lot eat plenty of it. I buy thick sliced wholemeal and we get through a loaf a day besides what we make in the bread machine. As Lidl, the German discount store is currently charging under sixty pence for a large sliced loaf, I’ve been buying them there recently. The rest of them aren’t complaining, so I assume they like the bread. I bought a new cycling helmet there the other week, seems okay and half the price of one from the internet. Okay, it doesn’t boast the designer names like Met or Specialized or Bell, but it does the same job.

Delia made me a cuppa as soon as I arrived which helped me recover from the fright of a near miss in the car. Some nice person in something called a Q5 cut me up at a roundabout and I nearly ended up on the blessed roundabout. I didn’t get his number. I say his, but it could have been a woman driving, they seem as aggressive as the men these days. By the time I got my car in the right lane to come on to the university, suffering unsympathetic honks from other drivers who seemed to delight in condemning me, I was very hot and bothered. The cuppa did help me calm down.

I went to get a file I’d left in the car when in the next row was the Q5. I recognised it because it had a dent on the nearside bumper and wheel arch—I had a good look at it while it was trying to run me off the road. I was sure it was the same car. I took the number and asked Delia to see if it was registered to anyone working at the university.

The meeting with the accountants over and the result being a draw, I considered it a good outcome, I didn’t lose any funding or have to make further cuts; when Delia handed me a slip of paper. The car was owned by a computer consultant who was working with the IT department. As we fund some of their services and had half an hour before my next meeting, I took myself over to our computer department.

One of their secretaries pointed out the man, a bloke of about forty, tall, fat and balding who was in a meeting with one of the IT post grads. I interrupted their meeting, standing in front of the slob with the Audi. “Yes?” he said.

“The next time you drive dangerously anywhere near me, I shall report you to the police.”

“What are you on about?”

“That’s your Q5 in the car park?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“You came in from the Gosport direction?”

“Yeah, so did half a million others.”

“Well the others didn’t try to kill me at a roundabout because they were in the wrong lane and almost forced me off the road.”

“Look, I don’t know who you are, lady, but butt out. I’m having a meeting here.”

“I was driving quite happily before you tried to kill me, so don’t come the old soldier, you arrogant road hog.”

He stood up and was only a couple of inches taller than I was, although I had heels on. “Piss off.” He said and I could smell garlic on his breath.

“I’m going—jeez—your breath stinks nearly as much as your driving.”

As I left I heard him ask, “Who’s the old tart with the twisted knickers?”

“I’d say a big problem,” replied the student.

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“She’s the professor of biological sciences and probably a director of your bank.”

Back in my office, I sent James an email with a car number on it and told him to get his spade and do some digging. I wonder how much debt he’s in, our macho driver?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2648 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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It was after lunch when James got back to me asking if it was safe to phone. I’d sent the email via my Black Berry so it wasn’t recorded on anything at the university.

“Your unfriendly Audi is registered to one Quentin Trollope.”

“And?”

“You want chapter and verse?”

“Just the juicy bits.”

“He’s divorced, two kids aged seven and nine, lives with his girlfriend and has a kid by her, a girl aged three.”

“Financial status?”

“He leases the car, costs him nearly five hundred a month, has two mortgages worth about four hundred and fifty K. Works for Lomas and Grey as a freelance computer consultant. Earns sixty K per annum. One of his mortgages is with High St. You gonna pull the plug.”

“What does his girlfriend do?”

“Sandie Tulloch, she doesn’t seem to do much, freelance photographer but not listed as paying any sort of tax or national insurance. Looks after her kid, I suppose.”

“That can be a full time job in itself, believe me.”

“I bow to your superior knowledge not being the maternal sort myself.”

“Don’t you mean, paternal?”

“That would only mean I had a small part in it.”

I groaned at his ancient joke.

“Ooh that’s interesting...”

“What is?” James can be quite infuriating at times.

“He owes a few grand on his cards. So you gonna sink him?”

“No, it would adversely affect two women and three children who had nothing to do with it.”

“You’re too soft, Cathy.”

“It’s not a question of being hard or soft rather of being just and moral. His family would suffer as much if not more than him, besides it would be illegal to cause someone’s mortgage to be called in because you don’t like them.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you chapter and verse anyway seeing as you’ve paid for it. What did the plod have to say?”

“I haven’t spoken with them.”

“When did it happen?”

“About a quarter to nine.”

“Hang on, searching the council CCTV, they monitor all these roundabouts for traffic flow. Oh nice one—it was eight forty one and he clearly cuts you up. I’m copying it on to a disc for you and requesting the official copy for the police. You can see his and your number plates quite clearly. You were really lucky you didn’t get hit by something unsighted coming round the other side of the roundabout.”

“Yeah, that was magic.”

“Oh Cathy that was as bad as my old joke, Magic Roundabouts—it’s awful.”

“So what d’you think?”

“I hope he’s better with ’puters than he is a driver or his clients would all be suspected of receiving stolen goods. I’ll report it to the police on your behalf and tell them to check out the CCTV and see what happens. He could be done for dangerous driving or at least cautioned.”

“That would suffice, the caution, I mean.”

“What you don’t want to see him pleading with the courts for clemency?”

“No, I just want to be able to go to work and do so safely especially when I have children in the car.”

“You’re too soft, go for the death sentence.”

“I have to go, James, some of us have to work for a living.”

“How come a conservationist can live in an ivory tower?”

“Got a special dispensation from Nellie the Elephant.”

Delia announced the others had arrived for another meeting, this time about the survey. Two staff from Bournemouth University’s ecology course had arrived and I asked Delia to make us all a nice cuppa.

They asked if I could do my dormouse talk to raise money for a conservation project they were undertaking. I clarified what they meant. They’d heard from Sussex that the outtakes were more fun than the documentary about dormice. I enquired about dates and they were hoping I could do one at the end of June. Unfortunately, I was available so agreed to do it—at least it didn’t clash with the TdF.

We dealt with some aspects of the survey they were finding difficult and after we’d talked it through I agreed to go there and talk to their entire team. Bournemouth isn’t my favourite place, a traffic nightmare, but it seemed the only way to sort out the problems they were having. Reluctantly, I agreed to go the following week—we were busy with exams, but I wasn’t due to invigilate any so apart from one morning teaching a revision session on the Tuesday, Monday was a bank holiday, I would be in the office the whole week.

I’ll have to be careful not to let the girls know I’m off to Bournemouth, they’ll go nuts to miss out on a trip there. I put it in my diary for the Wednesday and told Delia to blank out the day.

“You asked me to remind you that you have to go to London to report to the minister and the EU, it’s not until July but you said you’d need a few weeks to write it.”

“The wages of sin,” I sighed.

“What?” she gasped.

“When you sup with the devil, you have to pay for the meal.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I don’t know, the last time they settled for a written report and a conference report, this time they seem to want both the written and my presence to read it to them—explain the long words like parasite—nah they’ll know that one already.”

“You are so funny, Professor.”

“Yep, I got the chair temporarily because I was tired after several years of stand-up.”

“You had to stand up—didn’t they have enough chairs?”

“Delia, I know that you’re nowhere near as green as the grass you hide behind. So stop the wind-up before I decide not to award you a place on next year’s course.”

“What?” she gasped.

“I’m inviting you to study ecology at this ’ere university.”

“But I can’t afford the fees, Professor.”

“I’m arranging for a scholarship.”

“Oh wow, can I think about it?”

“Wait for the letter it’ll give you all the details. It should be sent in the next few days but I’ll need to know within two weeks if you’re up for it so we can offer it to someone else if you decline it.”

I saw tears running down her cheeks.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m like, blown away—no one has ever had confidence in me to do something like this before. I’m just overwhelmed. Thank you so much for considering me.”

“Delia, I’ve watched you for several months now, I’m also aware that you sneak into lectures when you think it’s quiet, you asked to come mousing with us, plus you are interested in what we do here—beyond that necessary to be my secretary. So I’d like to see you do the degree even if you decided afterwards you didn’t want to see another dormouse as long as you lived.”

“I don’t think that’s likely, Professor. It was your dormouse film that made me want to know more about the creatures and seeing you teach a couple of times—it made me wish I was a student here, even though I’m not clever enough.”

“You’re as bright as any of the others out there and more so than some. So think on it carefully, I may not be in this office next year, so won’t be able to influence the offer a second time.”

“Would that mean I’d only get the money for the first year?”

“No, providing you met the standard throughout the course, the scholarship would be payable through the entire thing.”

She sniffed with happiness and I felt pleased for her. Even if she doesn’t accept the offer of the place, she’ll feel valued for her mind, which might be the first time she’s experienced it.

I told her to switch the phones over to Pippa and go home early, then I went off to collect the kids.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2649 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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“Did you ask Delia?” Danni wanted to know as we walked to the car.

“Ask her what?” I replied almost day dreaming.

“If she wanted to study with you.”

“Yes, she’s going to talk it over with her family.”

“I hope she does, she’s nice.”

“Yes dear.”

“Can Cindy come over tonight?”

“For dinner?”

“No, she’s doing her homework first then coming. I thought I’d like to do some sewing.”

What? “You’d like to do some sewing?”

“Yeah, I need to practice for next year.” Was this my daughter talking?

“Only ’cos you bet Geraldine O’Connor you’d make a better dress next year than she did.” Trish was stirring again. If there is such a thing as reincarnation, Trish may well come back as a wooden spoon.

Danni blushed which was made worse by Livvie adding to her embarrassment, “Yeah, you didn’t know she got the prize for dressmaking last year, did you?”

“Well somebody coulda told me.”

“Why? You were saying you found sewing easy, shoulda stuck to soccer, you are better than her at that.”

It will come as no surprise that we had a sewing bee after dinner. I’d brought a box of patterns from my parent’s house, she decided she’d make a skirt. I had enough spare material to do it so I reminded her how to trim up the pattern then to pin it to the fabric and then cut it out. She chose one with pockets and a zip, plus a waistband and a frilly hem. I felt like asking if someone had kidnapped my daughter and substituted this one for her.

Trish, Livvie and Meems were cutting out patterns for my mutant dormouse. They each wanted a go at making one even though they already had one each that I made for them. Julie came and sat with us for an hour as she repaired overalls for her salon, while I helped Danielle cut out her material, she helped Cindy tack a garment together. Then Phoebe arrived with some trousers to alter and I ended up shortening them for her and hemming them while she made cups of tea and checked on Lizzie.

It was a nice quite night in, not that my lot are very interested in the university clubs and societies that advertise themselves all over with loud messages, sometimes paper posters get stuck over anything staying still for long enough, attract me. We have an ecology and conservation group which I keep well away from. They mainly help with cutting hedges and things on local nature reserves, occasionally something more urban and generally doing good deeds for animals and birds. I did get them offering hedgehog ladders for garden ponds which they made to my spec and did a better job than I did.

I almost went off into my trance recollecting my first sight of a dormouse. It was love at first sight although the one I saw had probably been shot by some Victorian gentleman or trapped and killed. It was in a display by at Bristol Museum and I felt excited by it—a moth eaten specimen if ever I saw one, but it got me hooked. “Finished my pants, Mummy?” Phoebe was back from baby care duties.

“Uh, yes, sweetheart. They’ll need pressing to make them sit properly.”

“They’ll be fine, thanks, Mum.” She pecked me on the cheek and collected her trousers.

“Can you do that with jeans, Dr Watts?” asked Cindy.

“Do what?”

“Shorten them?”

“Of course.”

“Can I bring them next time and you can show me what to do?”

“If you just want to oversew and hem, no problem, but if you want to bind them with bias-binding, which makes a neater job, you’ll need to get some before them.”

“Hey, that sounds good, can we do them with biased binding?”

“It isn’t biased, Cindy, it’s just tape which is cut on the bias to stop it fraying.”

“I’ll get some, don’t worry—maybe we could go shoppin’ at the weekend, Dan?”

“I think I might have a match.”

“Oh, with who?”

“Oh, I forgot the letter.” She went off to get it. “Here,” she said shoving it almost in my face.

She was correct. She’d been picked to play against Scotland in a friendly at Reading. “Does this count as a full cap?”

She shrugged, “I suppose so.”

“You mean you don’t actually know, actually?” asked Trish cattily who then squeaked because she stuck a needle in her finger—poetic justice?

Danni found it hilarious and I had to step in to stop a full blown squabble. “It don’t say, do it, Mummy?” she said drawing me in to the argument.

“No it doesn’t” I replied emphasising the doesn’t.

“Why don’t it?” persisted Trish. Why I’m paying a fortune in school fees baffles me as they can’t even speak the Queen’s English, let alone write it. In order to make sure they still could write with a pen rather than simply type everything, they had to do their homework in pen. I’d bought each of them a nice one and I did enjoy seeing them being used.

“Because it don’t—all right?”

“It doesn’t say, Trish.”

“That’s the FA for you—stands for Fanny Adams.” Of course they all started laughing and it became a giggle fit.

If you’re not one of the gigglers, it gets old very quickly and I wrestled with myself about trying to stop such things. Usually it makes matters worse. Instead I rose and went off to make myself some tea, it had mainly stopped by the time I came back though the odd snort or squeak set off a series of aftershocks for the next half an hour which was when Cindy’s mum came to get her.

Cindy is a very polite young woman and thanked me for having her and helping her get started with her skirt. Her mum thanked me for having her as well and gave me a small posy of flowers, which was nice.

I had a text from James and called him back. It appears the police had spoken to our little friend with the Audi and cautioned him. He was livid calling me all sorts of liar until they showed him the clip from the CCTV camera which James had borrowed from the original.

“How did you manage to get them to act on your behalf?”

“I told them you were my client.”

“And that worked, did it?”

“Duh,” was all he actually said and I felt myself blushing

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2650 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 didn’t believe my name made the police act any faster than they would normally. In fact I wondered if it did the opposite—if someone had bumped me off, they might give them a few days to escape before looking for them. I’m sure there are loads of ways of delaying the start of an investigation. I didn’t pursue the point with James though I did mention to Simon who immediately thought my importance had just been recognised. I couldn’t dissuade him, even suggesting that Jason or Kit Mitten’s names were more likely to cause an acceleration in affairs than mine. He told me off for underestimating my importance. I knew what it was—zilch.

I checked the internet for last minute emails and trawling through the Guardian website discovered that Blackburn diocese wants the General Synod to consider some sort of baptism or renaming ceremonies for trans people. I suppose given the pedestrian way the C of E has dealt with same sex marriage, it could be seen as progress but could take years of wrangling and working parties before anything except sympathetic inertia was the conclusion.

The evangelical right will say it isn’t covered in the bible or condemned by the bible, yet will happily accept blood transfusions or transplants that don’t appear in the bible either. Oh well, the more liberal members will continue to try and introduce progress but it will be exceeding slow. Good luck to them is all I can say, and also to those who feel a need to be rebaptised or renamed. Popping into a solicitor’s for a statutory declaration was enough renaming for me.

I had one more day to get through before dashing up to Reading on Saturday for the friendly match between England and Scotland’s ladies. Danni had been included in the squad but that didn’t guarantee she’d play. Apparently the current manager only announced the team an hour or so before the game to enable last minute changes. I suppose if someone is on a heavy period they may not play as well as usual, which won’t happen to Danni unless medical science moves forward more quickly than expected.

I heard the thing on the radio about paracetamol possibly causing fertility problems in male foetuses during pregnancy if the mothers took above a certain amount or used it regularly—undescended testes being one such problem. I have a feeling my mother took it while she was pregnant but how much and for how long, I have no idea.

After noting a website for recording ladybirds—something I could do with the younger children—I ordered a book on Ladybirds so I’d have a chance to identify them. It appears we have a large number of different ones including a newcomer, the Harlequin Ladybird which out competes and might even eat other species. As this is a real ecological issue, it might even get some mention next year and start someone looking for a research project, to do some post grad study. If we can prove it harms the ecosystem, we might even get some government money to study it. I know, that annoys me too, but blue sky research is very difficult these days without someone funding it.

Hedgehogs are being counted and suggestions for improving the environment for them is being publicised. I’ve been saying this for ages but no one listened. Hedgehogs are in trouble possibly only one thirtieth of the population we had in the 1960s. As they do no harm and loads of good, we should respect them. My garden is hedgehog friendly with places for them to nest and hunt, and was before I lived here. Tom has always encouraged them—he’s a keen gardener, but not one who likes total control of the planet.

Bumping into Simon as I took my cup back to the kitchen, he said, “Oh, I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“No, I was checking my emails.”

“Right, well I’m going on up.”

“I’ll be up as soon as I’ve rinsed my cup.”

He nodded and ascended the stairs I was no more than a couple of minutes behind him being overtaken on the stairs by a black rocket propelled cat who shot into the girls’ bedroom and would probably end up on Trish’s bed. Apparently there’s some research which suggests some antigen in cat saliva can encourage glaucoma in susceptible individuals. I wasn’t so sure about it but must have a look on the net to see how respectable it was. The guy on the radio suggested cats spent more time in doors than dogs, which I thought was erroneous in many cases—Bramble was out most of the day—only coming in for the night because of bribery with biscuits.

The problem is that the Today programme is frequently like the Daily Mail, it uses all sorts of stories which are necessarily correct because they are vaguely newsworthy. It doesn’t however carry as much on transgender issues as the Wail or even the Guardian, though the emphasis is so different between those two.

It wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration to suggest they are diametrically opposed to each other in many of their views and opinions. The Wail tends to look for negative sides to transgender stories unless the person involved is glamorous, while the Guardian is more proactive in carrying politically contentious stories about transgender people including the Church of England one. I suspect the same story in the Wail would be much more anti and conservative, perhaps suggesting the use of ducking stools for the baptisms. These were nasty objects which were a forerunner of waterboarding but used the same sort of outcome—nearly drowning the unfortunate victim, occasionally going beyond the nearly bit and actually drowning the victim in the village pond. They were popular for getting witches to confess.

Perhaps not quite as perilous as throwing the unfortunates into water bound up so no swimming was possible, where the innocent drowned and those who floated were then burnt at the stake—double jeopardy doesn’t begin to describe it.

Talking of things historical, it looks as if the irreplaceable artefacts and architecture of Palmyra may be days from destruction as the Islamic State militants have captured the ancient city. It grieves me that barbarians exist in the Twenty First Century, though their inhumanity to their fellow humans exceeds even their destruction of irreplaceable archaeology, perhaps only matched by the Syrian government of Assad and one or two other equally atrocious regimes in the Middle East or Africa, where life is cheap unless you happen to be the dictator or close to him.

Talking of Africa, I see a moron from Texas paid $350,000 to shoot a black rhino, an endangered species and then claimed it would aid conservation—talk about inverted logic.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2651 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 went to sleep thinking about ladybirds, Simon was already sleeping and doing the soundtrack for a Saturn V rocket launch. A sharp poke to his ribs caused him to turn over onto his side and the launch was cancelled.

Friday came too quickly, if the usual happens the weekend will be here and gone again before I can gather the few wits I have left. A series of meetings, some tweaks to the prospectus for next year to include proposed research areas and that now included a section on introduced or alien species. ET it wasn’t, but grey squirrels or harlequin ladybirds it could be.

I’ve always enjoyed looking at invertebrates, as a school kid I used to set traps in the leaf litter and detritus near the compost heap. Basically, it was a jam jar with a funnel inside it. Things blundered over the open funnel and fell into the bits of moss and screwed up pieces of paper. I’d check it morning and evening and with a free standing lens I found in a stamp collecting shop, I’d try and separate into carnivorous and non carnivorous the bugs and other critters that fell into my trap.

It was amazing what turned up there apart from woodlice, who trundle about like robots, it had springtails and beetles, worms and spiders, mites and things like pseudoscorpions as well as ubiquitous ants. I’m sure if ever man lands on Mars, the planet not the confectionery, he’ll discover ants got there millions of years earlier.

Having the luxury of a microscope at home, which most other kids didn’t have, I used to spend hours looking at samples of water taken from the bird bath, the water butts and roof gutters. It was fascinating seeing the microscopic animalcules which inhabited these environs, some of which in summer might afford only a fleeting opportunity for life as a shower filled the gutters with water only for it to dry out into its more usual arid milieu. Most are under a millimetre long and barely visible to the naked eye.

A bdelloid rotifer. (Bob Blaylock Wikipedia UK)

I’ve never lost the wonder of looking through microscopes or telescopes at other worlds which are parallel to our own but need entirely different climates and to which access is limited by distance or size. These things go on day in day out until we or nature disturb them I even saved enough to buy a camera mount and took some very useful if dark slides which I used to do talks with. Because many of them had never seen anything closer at hand than an aphid caught when sniffing roses.

As he could see the potential for education in me having a microscope, my dad helped me buy one. It wasn’t an expensive Beck like we had in the school laboratories, but it taught me a fair bit about using microscopes and making slides. I mentioned before my prowess at slide making which got me some good grades at Sussex and the particular lecturer there, Dr Butterworth, always addressed me as Miss Watts, not helped by my then slightly flowery writing.

At three o’clock I said goodbye to Delia and went off to collect the girls from school. It was half term next week, so I had some time booked off. The first priority was to make sure Danielle had everything ready for the trip tomorrow. Trish was coming with us, the others being less interested though Simon was hoping to be free to come to the match.

Danni was so excited she couldn’t settle and I told her later on to calm down or she would be a total wreck tomorrow and it could spoil her debut game. Mind you, I was also rather twitchy through my concern for her.

It was early on Saturday that we got ourselves breakfasted and ready. Danni had made a checklist and had run through it twice except she’d forgotten her football boots—fortunately, Trish hadn’t and appeared with them asking if Danni had forgotten anything?

The trip up wasn’t too bad and we dropped Danielle off at about eleven, then went off to check our tickets before popping into town for an hour or two and to grab an early lunch. We made do with sandwiches from Marks and Spencer, I had salmon and Trish opted for chicken. They had tuna, but I felt like salmon for a change.

Back at the stadium—these places are huge—we found our seats and settled down for an hour and a half’s wait before the kick off. Simon had sent a text to say he was on his way and would get to us as soon as he could. It was unlikely to be a sell out, women’s soccer is nowhere near as popular as men’s, but there was a respectable sized crowd building up and we were entertained, if that was the right word, by a competition for top majorettes.

Both Trish and I can be quite girly at times but we neither fancied strutting about in short sparkly dresses with gazoos or batons. I thought it had died out and the next craze underway, but obviously not. Most of the crowd seemed to ignore what was happening on the pitch, until a Scottish marching band arrived and then there was a lot of noise. The Scots, or should I rephrase that? Those supporting Scotland were gathered by the one goal, England supporters were all over the place and there were sizeable gaps in the seating.

Simon arrived about ten minutes before the kick off but managed to find us in the stand. The crowd had grown a little but it was still only half filling, if that, the stadium and once again I felt sorry for the athletes who were performing to a much smaller group of fans than they deserved.

The teams arrived, Scotland in their traditional blue and England in an all white strip. As soon as we saw Danni, we shouted and waved though it was unlikely she’d hear us. We all sang the national anthem, God save the Queen, though there were one or two dissenters who whistled and yelled. Unfortunately, such events seem to attract them in sufficient numbers to make a nuisance of themselves, I believe it was Benjamin Franklin who suggested patriotism was the last refuge of the scoundrel. I suspect, I would agree.

Simon had managed to get a programme and I desperately wanted to see what they’d written about Danni. It was very short, ‘Danielle has exploded onto the stage with astonishing spot kicking and fearless attacking play, though she remains a team player who also ran interference and gave winning passes for others to score. Is this the schoolgirl version of a young David Beckham?’

We all approved of the write-up, then I had an awful headache as I began skimming through the Scotland team. I realised the cause of it when I saw the full back Jane ‘Dutch’ Holland. It wasn’t Holland as in the Netherlands who caused Danni trouble but this nasty piece of work. I hoped my dream was wrong and that I was maligning the woman player for no reason, I suppose time will tell, but just in case I began drawing down the light as the Scots kicked off and my daughter got a first senior cap for England.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2652 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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So far the dream hadn’t come to pass and Danni was paid no more attention than any of the other England women. She was certainly the youngest and possibly the smallest player but she began to play that to her advantage, small people have great manoeuvrability and it wasn’t very long before she’d got past a couple of the blue shirted women and was haring down the touchline managing to cross the ball into the six yard area before being hacked down by the large Scottish fullback. Simon was on his feet and screaming at the referee and linesmen who didn’t flag a foul.

She got up and limped about for a few minutes before she was engaged in the thick of it again and once again she was chopped down by the fullback. Again no foul was given. Simon was muttering things about arranging an optician’s appointment for the ref.

The third time she got walloped, it happened in front of the referee and he was obliged to do something. He awarded a direct free kick. I knew what the outcome would be and relished some revenge except the captain came up to take it. Danni stood a couple of yards to her right and suddenly the captain changed her mind and told Danni to bend it. She didn’t need asking twice. Just as in my dream she curved it round the wall and into the top of the goal without the goalkeeper even seeing it.

I whispered to Trish, “Charge yourself up, I have a feeling Danni is going to get hurt at some point and we’re going to need to help her.”

“Okay,” she said and I recognised that she had begun to bring down the energy as I was doing.

Danielle continued to be thorn in the side of the Scots women, with her ball control skills and fast acceleration they seemed to have no way to deal with her except to take her down, usually by foul means. Several times she ended up limping, but her solitary goal kept England in the lead at half time.

Trish and I tried to send her the light to heal any knocks and protect her from the two fullbacks who were like giants compared to our darling daughter. England started the second half and once again, Danni was in the midst of the action, her passing dominating the midfield. Once it was realised she had the ability to see and set up moves, her team mates began to let her call the shots. They kept the Scots pinned down in their own half by swift attacks but mainly by holding onto possession. It’s a well known fact, that it’s very difficult to score if you don’t have the ball.

Danni moved the ball around and suddenly after it came back to her she took it herself and ran at her opponents, past one, then another before that bloody giant of a woman flattened her again, with very little attempt to play the ball. Danni stayed down holding her leg, the referee gave the woman a yellow card—it should have been red—and awarded a free kick again. I hurled blue at her, drawing in Trish’s energy as well. After several minutes Danni managed to stand then hobbled about finally speaking to her captain. She took the free kick again.

I have never seen a kick like it. It curved off to the right, around the wall, then curved left towards the goal before curving again behind the goal keeper and into the net. The crowd was silent for a moment as was the referee, as if he didn’t quite believe his eyes, but he blew his whistle and pointed to the centre spot. England were two up.

“Did you see that kick?” asked Simon as the Scots kicked off again, “Even Beckham couldn’t bend it like that.” I did wonder if the blue energy helped, but it was after foul play, so it seemed fair enough to me.

Scotland were mainly confined to their own half but on one rare attack they caught the England girls on the back foot and suddenly it was two one. The game then seesawed back and fore as each side strove to add to their score. Danielle seemed to stay calm, marshalling her troops she sent them off again, acting as a fulcrum in the moves they tried.

Seeing a gap down the left wing she fired a long pass out to her winger who got past the fullback and crossed it into the penalty box. Danni took it on the volley smashing it at the goal only for it to be stopped by the face of the woman who’d been knocking her down. She dropped like a sack of coal and ball rebounded to the feet of the England captain who slammed it low into the net. England three Scotland one—game over.

And so it proved to be, our little girl had proven to be a play maker and game changer and not an overhead scissors or bicycle kick in sight. She was also awarded ‘man of the match’, which I doubt anyone would dispute. We waited while she went and showered, she emerged an hour later—they’d had a quick debrief and she was full of herself as she said the coach had confided in her, ‘Play like that, girl, and your name will be the first on the team sheet every time.’

“That was brilliant, kiddo,” said Simon engulfing her in a monster hug.

“I’d have thought you wanted Scotland to win?” she teased him back.

“It was a difficult call but I decided I’d support the better side, which you just happened to be playing for.”

“I taught her all she knows,” joked Trish.

“You made my leg better, didn’t you?” she almost accused me.

“I wanted you to get one back on that wretched woman who kept knocking you down.”

“How did you do that kick?” asked her father.

She shrugged, “As soon as I hit it I just knew it was going into the net. I think it might have had some help—eh, Mummy?”

“I didn’t touch it,” I protested.

“It seemed to have a blue tail to me, like a comet.”

“Optical illusion,” I pronounced and they all laughed.

“Home?” said Simon.

“Can I get something to eat, I’m starvin’?” replied Danni.

“Could do, look you come in my car with me and we’ll stop on the way back and get you a burger or something and your mum can take Trish and get back home so the others can eat.”

Which was what we did. Si and Danni went off in his F type and Trish and I went home in mine. Trish said she was philosophical about riding with me, when I knew she’d have preferred the sports car, but today she seemed to have grown up a little.

“Did you help her score that goal?” she asked me after contemplating it for some time.

“I don’t know the first thing about soccer, do I?”

“It was like something out of Harry Potter, sphericus in goalus,” she said waving her hand about like a deranged Hermione before falling back in her seat giggling.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2653 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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“Hi, Mummy,” said Livvie giving me a huge hug. “I see England won, then.”

“Course,” beamed Trish.

“Danni did one of her specials, then?”

“Two, actually,” corrected Trish.

“Yeah but only one is one Youtube.”

“It’s not is it?”

“Yeah, someone had a camcorder and filmed it, posted it as goal of the century.”

“Oops,” I said when Trish looked round.

Livvie looked accusingly at me. “’Arry Potter, ’ere, mighta ’elped it a little,” said Trish smirking.

“I swear I didn’t, I was just trying to heal her leg after that bloody woman clattered her again.”

The two siblings looked at each other and roared with laughter. I glared at them. “It’s not on Youtube, is it—you pair of scunners.”

“It is, it swerves all over the place, goalkeeper musta been asleep.”

“Oh poo.” I blushed and they started to giggle only stopping when Daddy appeared.

“Och, whaur’s thae Hammer o’ thae Scots?”

“What, Danni?”

“Aye, thae scunner. I’ll skelp her lug when I see her.”

“Why?” said Trish and Livvie rather louder than they needed.

“Because she beat ma team on her ain.”

“I think there were some others playing too, Gramps,” asserted Trish.

“Especially one large Scotswoman who fouled her every time she got the ball,” I snapped.

“Aye, a’richt, she wis fu’ o’ porridge, but yon lassie got her ain back.”

“Yeah, eat this porridge stuffer,” said Trish before my glower stopped the smirk.

“How did she do those kicks, swervin’ a’ o’er thae place?”

“She practices all the time, Gramps, said Livvie.

“It’s to do with variable spin, Gramps—like they do in tennis...” Trish then gave her grandfather a lesson in applied physics all of which I suspected he knew anyway. Livvie took my hand and led me to her computer in the dining room.

“Here, watch this, Mummy,” she said clicking on the Youtube video. It was an entirely different perspective to the side of the stand we were in and when Danielle struck the ball with the side of her foot, it curved one way and then the other at sufficient speed and height to make it almost impossible to intercept—David Beckham could not have done any better—before dropping into the goal.

We watched it two or three times and I was relieved to see there was no blue light visible, least not to me. I asked Livvie and she said she couldn’t see any either. Hopefully that meant all the magic was in Danielle’s skilful kick rather than my sending her the energy.

It was an hour later that Simon brought home our own international heroine. I was talking with David who’d done us a huge cottage pie—would that constitute a mansion pie?—when Simon’s car drove up. They walked in—they had to the door into the kitchen is too narrow for a car—and were engulfed by a flurry of girls who wanted to hug our goal scorer. Even Julie and Phoebe hugged her and they’re not that interested in sport unless in involves nice young male bums in tight shorts, can’t understand why they don’t like cycling for that reason alone, shorts don’t come much tighter than cyclist’s ones.

Over dinner we had umpteen reports of the match and then had to watch the goals on Livvie’s laptop. Julie was suitably impressed but ignored Trish trying to explain the swerve in terms of physics. “I don’t need to know the ins and outs of a cat’s backside. As long as Danielle knows what she’s doing and they go in the net, who cares what bloody Einstein thinks. It’s not as if he was playing in bloody goal is it?”

“I was only trying to explain how it happens, the difference between centrifugal and centripetal forces in gyroscopic...”

“Yeah, who cares as long as Gareth Bale here, knocks ’em in.”

“Gareth Bale is a man, Danielle is a girl and plays for a women’s team, so there.”

“I think I know Danielle is a girl, I cut her hair and tinted her eyelashes.”

Trish marched off to brush off her ego followed quickly by Livvie. Neither were impressed by the dismissal of their more analytical approach to everything. In everyday terms, intellectually they are very bright, possibly the only one in their league is Daddy but he either doesn’t have the skills or desire to talk seriously to either. His grasp of physics and maths is far deeper than mine, I win out on history and religion, especially Christian dogma plus assorted other bits; though I’m almost ashamed to say I use it mostly in a destructive way—my little revenge on the Sunday school teachers and my parents for shoving it down my neck.

I left the conquering heroine and her acolytes and went in search of the two self excluders, hoping they weren’t plotting revenge of some sort. They might be very clever but only have a nine year old’s appreciation of consequences—a bit like the British electorate.

I found them up in their bedroom lying on their beds with Bramble. They were talking, the girls, that is. If the cat was as well, I was unaware of it, but nothing would surprise me with the capabilities of cats, the natural Machiavellis of the world.

I let them know I was there and went into to sit with them. Trish complained that she was only trying to explain the physics involved. I told I knew what she was trying to do but she had to appreciate that not everyone needs to know how things work, possibly because they don’t have the education to understand it or the interest.

“But they should.”

“Why should they? I have a diesel car, I’m trained to drive it but I have no idea what goes on under the bonnet.”

“What if it breaks down?”

“I call the garage or the RAC, they can fix it.”

“But understanding it would mean you could diagnose and repair minor faults.”

“For most cars you need a special computer to do that. I do some of my own repairs with the bikes, the car can go to the garage to be serviced or fixed. I have better things to do. I mean if I wanted to build a new house or the extension on this one, we employed an architect who not only understood what was possible regarding the structure but also how the law worked. It wouldn’t be feasible to do all that myself plus supervise the builders. Patrick the architect saw to all of that and we have a nice home to live in because of his help.”

“Was he the architect?” asked Livvie.

“Yes, Mr Patrick Fuller from the Yeoman and Sidcott practice.”

“We could have done the drawings with a computer, once you got the measurements.”

“You have to know what the law says regarding the measurements. You can only extend by a certain percentage of the floor space or something like that.”

“Should find that on the internet,” said Trish almost dismissively.

“I just told you I had better things to do.”

“Like what?” she challenged.

“That isn’t any of your business, but I’ll have you know despite your rudeness, being a mother to you lot was one of them. Next time you need me for something, I might just be designing an extension for my laboratories. Good night.”

I got up in a huff and walked out. “Now look what you’ve gone an’ done,” said Livvie’s voice as I went down the stairs. I didn’t hear the reply but I doubt it was very happy.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2654 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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The next morning Trish was apologetic for her rudeness the previous evening. I told her that if she were really sorry, she wouldn’t do it again. I knew it wasn’t true but I needed her to think a little about her shooting from the lip retorts. I wanted her to exercise some self control over what she said and did. If her brain was as big as a planet, as everyone told me, then surely she could manage to find a few underused brain cells to control her mouth or run a little more self control. I know she’s only nine, but if I let her get away with it now, by her teenage years she’s either going to have caused someone to kill themselves or her—possibly her sisters.

It was half term and breakfast was more relaxed than usual, it being a bank holiday, which once upon a time was called Whit Monday, from Whitsuntide or Pentecost, when according to legend, the Holy Ghost came among the disciples and they started talking in tongues—which is I believe a sign of mental illness, but not in those days.

Danielle had become a real teenager and stayed in bed until lunchtime despite the efforts of the others to get her up. I suspect she’d used up loads of emotional energy on the Saturday and was now coming to terms with what she’d done—won an international match for her country. That meant a degree of immortality, because the records will go on for many years after we’re all gone, when people will say, “2015, who was this D Cameron who scored two goals?” It wasn’t the Prime Minister, same name but he only scores own goals.

She’d slept quite late on the Sunday as well until Cindy came over and I left them chatting up in her bedroom. Cindy has been taking blockers and hormones for over a year, so they could hardly get up to very much except rubbing each others’ boobs and to be quite honest, I doubt Danni would be that interested in doing it with another girl—which is how we all view Cindy. However, that is up to Danni. I did ask that they behaved themselves if I let them go up to her room, and she promised she would.

Cindy stayed for dinner and seemed in awe of her friend. I told her that it was only a fitba game and she said it was so much more. I reminded her it was a friendly, in theory if not practice, and so it only counted for so much. In view of the fact she’d played the whole game and had been instrumental in winning it for England, she was to be awarded a full cap. I guess we were all pleased, even if I’m supposed to be Scots by birth.

On the Monday lunch time as sleeping beauty was rising from her bed, the doorbell rang—well somebody pushed the button which made it ring, it wasn’t an exactly spontaneous expression of existentialism by the bell, in case you wondered. On opening the door, standing behind a large bunch of flowers was John Jackson from the Echo.

“How did you get in?” I asked angrily, we had expensive gates which were supposed to keep people like him out.

“The gate was open.”

I tried to think who was last out but it could have been anyone. I was about to slam the heavy front door in his face when he protested that the flowers were for Danielle for her achievement on the football field.

I told him she wasn’t going to talk to him, so he could keep his flowers—give them to his mother or girlfriend. He insisted that while he’d like a story he understood she was very tired given the game she’d played that weekend. I felt like telling him, it was just as tiring watching it, especially when that bloody woman kept clonking her every time she got the ball. I suppose it happens, skilful players are dangerous and can transform games in moments so they get special treatment—often of a very physical sort.

I told him that she’d had a difficult game, her debut as a senior, given she was only thirteen, and was resting up and having her injuries tended. It was a mistake.

“Of course, you’re some sort of white witch aren’t you, you do healing and things, don’t you?”

“I’m not a wiccan of any colour, Mr Jackson, and I’d best remind you that any aspersions cast will be flung back at you and your newspaper in court. Unlike most of the people you annoy, I have the resources to make you regret it.”

“Lady Cameron, I wouldn’t dream of causing you distress.”

“Mr Jackson, you’re about as honest as convicted felon.”

“You misunderstand me, Lady Cameron. Your daughter Danielle is special. She could be the next David Beckham.”

“I would have thought that would be difficult because he was a phenomenon of his age and Danielle, apart from being female, won’t have the chance to play for Manchester United, because she’s female.”

“They have a women’s team.”

“I’m sure they do, but I doubt anyone down here has heard of any of them.”

“They’ve all heard of Danielle.”

“I doubt it.”

“They did a feature on the game in the Sun on Sunday.”

“I doubt it, they had play-offs and so on to cover.”

“They did, see for yourself. They described her as Danielle ‘Bend it like Beckham’ Cameron and had a series of pictures to prove it, plus a video.”

Oh boy, do I tell her or let her find out the hard way? I finally got rid of our local reporter who has all the skill of a porcupine masseuse or should that be quill?

Once it was noted that the Sun had done an article Trish went off to track it down. Thankfully, I didn’t drop it until everyone had eaten. She was soon back with her iPad and showed it to Danni who went crimson. They had a few quotes from the team coach but that was it, they weren’t getting any from Danielle or anyone else in the household and I laid down the law in chapter and verse. At least they understood the reasons so should be more careful.

Danni said about thanking them for the flowers, which I supported but if she did as she suggested and send an email, they’d have her email address. She groaned but promised me she wouldn’t do any such thing. Trish then got to help her arrange the flowers. I left them to it. Instead I went in search of a thank you card because I knew I had some in my study. Danni eventually went off to do a draft, which was just as well because she couldn’t spell Reivers, as in border variety.

>

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2655 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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Danni wrote the card and I addressed it to the Echo, thanking them for the lovely flowers, but that as a minor, she was unable to offer any sort of interview. If they sought further comment, they should speak with the FA. I stuck on a stamp and would post it the next morning.

The websites of various newspapers mentioned the women’s international and how the youngest player shone brightest in the talent stakes with mention of her wonder free kicks and marshalling the midfield. One even suggested that not only would David Beckham be proud of her but might well be jealous of her skills.

The Youtube video of her free kicks had now been viewed by over a hundred thousand and I was concerned the thing could go viral and really blow up in our faces. I wasn’t sure Danielle understood the consequences but then at thirteen perhaps I didn’t either.

The incident in question was getting my ears pierced. I already had very long hair having refused to get it cut from age eleven, except to trim off the split ends which I did every few months. My hair was always clean and shining and carefully tied back with one of the thin elastic ties into a ponytail. My nails were always clean and tidy and shaped. I sometimes even painted them with nail hardener, which was like wearing clear varnish. Sometimes I just buffed them until they shone like they’d been polished, in which case I would then rub in a nail cream or oil.

Siân and I went to town one day and I had instructions to get my hair cut. We went to the salon I frequently used and was addressed as Miss Watts, which made Siân smirk, and she dared me to get my ears pierced. The problem with being issued dares, is that you pick up the gauntlet before you realise to every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Thanks to Siân’s challenge I agreed to get them pierced and sleeper studs inserted so when she spoke about two earrings, I assumed she meant one in each ear. She didn’t and I went home with four studs which I knew would get me shot. In the end I chickened and only left two studs in situ which meant the other two healed up in couple or so days. I was able to keep them covered by relaxing my ponytail, which then allowed the hair to droop over my ears and mostly they weren’t visible, but it was nineteen ninety six and loads of men and boys had ear studs in both ears. My problem then, was simply that I looked more girly than they did from the start, so with very long hair, my fine features and androgynous body shape, it confused people.

Out of school, I was frequently mistaken for a girl in my grungy androgynous clothes. I refused to wear jeans where the crotch was level with my knees and the tops of my underpants showed above the waistband. In my case it would have been panties not underpants. I’m sure my mother knew I was wearing them even though I cut the labels out of them, and I went for plain cotton ones—they were just women’s ones.

In school barely anyone noticed me anyway unless they needed a punch bag. So it was several weeks after I got them done that they were spotted. It was a five minute wonder and as the school only had policies about jewellery contravening health and safety laws and that it was a boy’s school, they didn’t expect to have to rule on wearing earrings, so there was no policy, ergo no one was likely to get into trouble for wearing discreet ones like mine—okay Siân bought me some sparkly ones but they were very small and I wore them several times before they were spotted.

What happened then was a couple of bullies grabbed me down in an area near the lockers and told me to remove my ear studs or they’d make me wear some bright pink lipstick. Fearing that would cause problems with my parents, I took them out. They then made me wear some huge red plastic hoops. Of course it was spotted and I got sent to see Murray who practically frothed at the mouth, showering me in spittle as he ranted and raved. He told me I was an unnatural creature and should be in therapy not messing up his school. He ranted at my hair, my effeminacy and general lack of moral fibre. I was told to return later to the secretary’s office where he’d have left a letter to my parents. It filled me with dread.

I had lied saying I was wearing them for a bet which he didn’t believe. However, he didn’t instruct me to remove them, so I didn’t not until the end of the day when the boy who’d insisted I wear them collected them to give back to his sister.

The letter to my parents told them that I was becoming a bad influence on others flaunting my effeminate ways, with my girlish hair and pierced ears. As neither were contrary to the school policy I had got away with it, but wearing such outrageous dangling earrings contravened health and safety and they were to ensure I toed the line in future. His final remark: ‘Charles’ effeminacy concerns me and I half expect him to attend wearing the girl’s uniform one of these days. Perhaps if he did it would curb his unnatural tendencies by saturation therapy.

It appears my father spoke to Murray and to my horror I was sent to school in the girl’s uniform for a week; my dad thinking the outlay was worth it if it stopped me acting so girly. The first day was dreadful, almost continual abuse from staff and students alike. I met up with Siân on the way home and she advised me on makeup and putting my hair up—she had to show me. It was an as over the top response to Murray as his had been to my being bullied with the earrings.

I was shunned or abused for quite a bit longer than the uniform punishment lasted, they all called me Charlotte or Miss Watts apart from other abusive terms. It was ironic that I wanted to be seen as female because that was how I felt inside but not in the manner in which it was granted. Nowadays, he’d have been in court if not prison for child abuse—he was too excitable to be a good headmaster.

Experience is a harsh teacher. I learned a few lessons the hard way, I suspect Danni still has some more to come.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2656 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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Although it was half term I had to pop into the office to sort out some stuff for Delia to do. I parked the car and something large and German pulled alongside me. The creep from the road incident stood in front of me. “Think you’re clever do you?”

“Well they made me a professor so I can’t be quite as stupid as you, can I?”

“I had the police round.”

“What for drinky-poos?” Judging by the look on his face it wasn’t the best thing to have said.

“Very funny—I could lose my licence because of you.”

“Before we go any further, I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Like what?” he said aggressively.

“You’re the one who drove dangerously, not me.”

“You lying bitch,” he went to raise his hand.

“If you lay a finger on me, I can guarantee you a prison sentence.”

“Who d’you think you are?”

“I know who I am, and I know who you are too, Quentin.” I’m sure his eyes began to bulge and his face got redder than most strawberries achieve even in a good summer.

“You interfering bitch,” he practically spat at me.

“Calling me nasty names, apart from being puerile could be interpreted as threatening behaviour. If you calm down and go home and think about things before you say them, I won’t say anything more about this.”

“And if I don’t.”

“The police will be round again and you’ll probably have to go to their place and their reputation for hospitality leaves something to be desired, or so I’m told.”

“I’ll just deny it.”

“As well you might, but the camera up there,” I pointed to the CCTV, “will be able to demonstrate that you hadn’t come to ask after my health. We would of course be obliged to surrender them to the police.”

“You bitch,” he spat.

“Quentin, please.” I remonstrated, “It’s not me who’s at fault. It’s you who keeps doing dumb things in front of video-cameras.”

“I won’t every time,” he said with menace.

I doubted even he could be that stupid, but I am wrong occasionally. However, if he was suggesting he’d get me when there were no cameras, that was definitely threatening behaviour.

“Goodbye, Quentin, do yourself a favour and get some driving lessons and some anger management therapy.”

I ducked as he swung at me. I didn’t see it coming—well not directly, I just felt it was coming and I ducked down and he punched past me hitting the door pillar of a Transit van. It must have hurt. He swore and suddenly shook his hand then tears started trickling down his face.

“I’ve broken my bloody hand,” he said loudly. “Look,” he showed me his hand.

“If that had hit my head, you could have killed me—do you realise that?”

“Geezuz, my frigging hand—Christ it hurts.”

He seemed to pale visibly before turning a shade I think Dulux paints used to call ‘Apple white.’ A moment later he began to vomit, over his own car—of which one window was fully open.

“Oh shit,” he said before spewing more of his breakfast into the driver’s side of his car. Then he went absolutely white and began to fall. He was too big for me to hold upright so I pushed him against his car and let him slide to the ground. I had to grab his hair to stop his head hitting the ground. Once he was safely on the ground, I called reception and asked them to save the tape in the camera and to call an ambulance. I waited for it to come some seven or eight minutes later.

I explained what had happened and the paramedic told me to prosecute him for attempted assault. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, the man was a complete buffoon and was more a danger to himself than he was to me.

“Well I shall report it as patient injured himself trying to assault woman professor at the university. In fact I’ll call it through to them now.” He picked up his phone, “Hello control, patch me through to the police will you?”

I listened to the one sided conversation but when he gave my position as a woman professor and they asked for my name, I heard the groan the policeman gave, “Why is it always her?” I’m pretty sure I hear a moment later.

“We locked up Quentin’s car and I took the keys to reception coming back with a note to put on the windscreen to tell anyone who needed to know, exactly where they were. As the sun began to feel warmer, I thought the smell in his car is going to be pretty awful—but I did try to prevent it rather than react to his temper tantrum. I felt quite pleased with myself without appearing too smug—the operative word being—too.

I got the office to copy the film from the camera which wasn’t as good as I thought it would be, but I had a copy which I would keep safe until it was required by the police. Now he’d shown himself to be a total plonker, I felt anything but intimidated by him.

On my return to my office Delia informed me that she’d had four calls from some bloke on the Daily Telegraph. “He wants to do a feature on Danielle.”

“Tell him to contact the FA, they’ll talk to him until the cows come home.”

“I think that might be where he got your name.”

“Sorry, I can’t help him then.”

“He didn’t sound the type to give up.”

“Damn, he might just probe deeply enough to discover her past.”

“Is that bad?”

“Abused as a child, brought up as a boy—need I say more?”

“What, they tried to make out she was a boy? What a hoot, she’s one of the girliest girls I know.”

How do you respond to that?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2657 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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“Delia, when Danni first came to me, she was living as a boy.”

“Oh,” she said and became very quiet.

“I was asked to have her and another boy over the Christmas and they grew on us. The other boy admitted to having ambivalent feelings about gender, so we gave him a chance to explore his feminine side. The change was incredible, Billie as a girl became more outgoing and confident than she’d ever been as a boy. Sadly, just as her life seemed to be coming together, she had an aneurysm burst while out cycling with me and she crashed and died.”

“I’m sorry,” she looked very sad.

“I’m told the happiest few months of her life were living as a girl and being a daughter. She’d been abused as a child and spent a year or two in the children’s home, which was where Danielle also lived.

“So two of your children started off as boys?”

“Uh, it depends what you mean by started off as boys, if you mean they were thought to be boys when young, that would apply to several of them. They subsequently decided they wanted to experience living as girls. So after checking with Stephanie Cauldwell, who is a paediatric psychiatrist, we allowed it to happen. Each of them seemed happier, though I was at first against Danni doing it. I was losing my only son—but it was what he seemed to want to do.

“When I found I couldn’t dissuade him, I insisted he live in role for a period of three months. He wasn’t so sure but agreed to it. He’d been sexually assaulted by two Frenchmen while over there on a school trip. He and another boy were caught in a public toilet and assaulted, possibly after the other boy said something to the two men. There was a real brouhaha and the men were tracked down, started a firefight with the gendarmerie and got killed.

“During his time in skirts, Danni with the rest of us went up to Scotland to the Cameron castle, while we were up there we came across a young man who desperately wanted to be a girl. We discovered this and found his father was a total bigot and preached at him all the time. We were able to offer an alternative lifestyle plus somewhere to live away from the family. It seemed to overwhelm her and she hanged herself. Danni was one of those who found her. It’s had a profound effect upon her ever since.

“The other boy who was assaulted in France chopped off his meat and two veg a week or two after coming back to the UK. He survived and we encouraged Danielle to stay friendly with him because he’d need every one he could find. She did and he rewarded her with chloroforming her and chopping off her nadgers in exactly the way most likely to have a surgeon opt for conversion to a pudenda, which was what happened.

“I was horrified, it almost certainly made a return to boyhood improbable if not impossible, though I’m aware that some biological females wish to become male, it’s more complicated in some ways than the male to female.”

“I can’t believe anyone wants to be a man,” offered Delia.

“Except perhaps most boys.”

“Yeah, well I thought that was implicit—except perhaps the ones who come to you.”

“That sounds as if I’m the instigator of turning boys into girls, which I deny categorically.” I hoped she hadn’t meant it to sound that way.

“Uh sorry,” she blushed, “I just meant those who don’t want to be men seem to come to you.”

“Well the house is full, so I can’t or won’t take anymore.”

“So Danni was forced to become a girl?” she said bringing me back to my narrative.

“In lots of ways, yes. It was partly my fault for insisting he live as a girl for three months, and for asking him to maintain a friendship with Peter after he’d modified himself. I assumed that after doing that he might be short of friends, little did I know he’d do something similar to my son.”

“How did he adapt to becoming a full-time girl?”

“It wasn’t an easy path and at one point it felt like she’d gone from being a boy to a female to male transsexual, quite literally a boy trapped in a now girl’s body. It was all a bit fraught.”

“And that’s all over now, is it?”

“For the moment, thanks to football. She was good as a boy but as a girl she’s outstanding and her little brain decided that as she wanted to play at the highest level, she had more chance playing as a girl than she would have done had she stayed a boy, even before she was mutilated.”

“I don’t think I follow you.”

“There are many more good male players than female so the chance of being recognised is smaller.”

“Ah, gotcha. Doesn’t the fact that she was a boy complicate things as a girl, you know in playing for England?”

“Not if they’ve been on hormones for a certain period of time or had surgery because it’s deemed they have no advantage over natural females.”

“What about that South African runner, what’s her name...”

“Caster Semanya?”

“That’s the one—doesn’t she have an advantage over most women?”

“The Olympic people didn’t think so and she was beaten by a British girl anyway. But she was supposed to be intersexed in some way and they made her have surgery to confirm her femaleness, which is to my mind just as offensive as Peter doing surgery on Danni.”

“I presume she agreed to it.”

“If you see your future as an athlete and these people tell you you can’t play unless you have this done—that’s oppression in my book.”

“Not sure I can get my head round that one.” I was about to explain what I’d meant when she stopped me and said, “You know we have a transgender student starting next year?”

My tummy flipped. “No, I didn’t.”

“Here,” she handed me an application form. I glanced through it. At the end where we invite students to write about themselves they’d disclosed they were transgender, going from boy to girl. They said that they would be transitioning from the time they left school as to do so before could affect their exam results.

“Oh well if they have sufficiently high grades, I hope the university policy on equality and diversity will protect them. Where are they coming from?” I’d given the form back to Delia.

“Uh, Bristol.”

“What?” I snatched it from her, they were currently at Bristol Grammar School, my Alma mater—oh boy, sometimes this all gets too close for comfort.

“You missed this bit, he or she is coming here after you spoke to them a couple of years ago—oh, and there’s a photo.” I looked at it and wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be of a boy with long hair or a girl, it was a passport type and didn’t show anything but head and shoulders.

“I can’t see me having much if any contact given I only do a welcome talk to the first years. These days I’m a departmental manager, not a teacher.”

“She’s going to be in my year—so if she’s as nice as you, that’ll be good.”

“You’ve decided to take the offer of a place then?”

“Yes, professor, didn’t I tell you?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2658 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 was really pleased that Delia had taken up the offer to study, though quite what I’d do about secretarial support was another matter. Oh well, it’ll sort itself out, it always does whether I worry about it or not.

She was grinning back at me. “That looks as if it surprised you, professor.”

I smiled back, “I had every confidence that you’d make the best decision for you and I’m delighted for you.”

“I hope the offer of the bursary scholarship thingy still stands?” she said looking less confident.

“Delia, all your university expenses—tuition fees and so on, will be met providing you meet the required standard each year. If you require living expenses as well, I’m sure we could look into helping you there as well.” I’d spoken to Simon about setting up some sort of scholarship and he seemed to think it would easy enough. I’d now have to ask him to organise it. Over three years it would be twenty seven thousand plus something towards books and other expenses—so probably thirty thousand.

“I hoped that I might be able to earn a bit working for you doing typing and stuff.”

“It’s a lovely idea but I’d have to see what the rules are on it because you could be privy to confidential information on other students, plus exam papers and so on.”

“Oh,” she looked crestfallen.

“I’m not saying you can’t, but I’ll have to check on it.”

“I hoped you’d trust me with the confidential stuff.”

“I know I could but I’d have to act in everyone’s best interest, including yours and not place you in a position where you could be open to accusations of any sort.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, maybe I should just withdraw from the course and carry on as your secretary.”

“Please don’t do that.” I blushed and hoped she wasn’t game playing. “Look, no job is for life these days but if you get yourself a degree it will give you greater options and I hope will open your mind to these options.”

“There’s loadsa kids with degrees who don’t have jobs.”

“That’s very true, but most of them are arts graduates with all sorts of nebulous things. You’ll leave here with bachelor of science degree and I hope the confidence in your own abilities to get the job you want and develop a career from it.”

“Did you always want to teach?”

“Me? Good lord no. I wanted to do research and protect endangered species and save the world. Unfortunately, no one wants to listen.”

“That’s not true, your survey is going to do all sorts of things.”

“If only, Delia, if only. We might get one or two things improved and I hope it will give us some sort of baseline but if we can’t save hedgehogs—an animal everyone loves—what chance for things that aren’t as appealing.”

“Poor Mrs Tiggywinkle.”

“Quite.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“In the fifties/sixties we had about thirty million of them, the current estimate is under a million. Unless things happen rapidly, the base population won’t sustain itself.”

“So how can we save them?”

Oh boy, how long is a piece of string? “By making the environment more suitable to them, leaving wild areas in our manicured gardens, perhaps putting food out or leaving water for them.”

“We used to put bread and milk out for them when I was a kid.”

“Um—I’m afraid all that does is give them diarrhoea.”

“What d’you give them then?”

“Dog food—the tinned stuff but not those with fish in them, it causes fatty liver disease.”

“Won’t that have them barking?”

“I don’t care if it gets them through a winter and a chance to breed.” She looked taken aback that I didn’t laugh at her joke. “We need to reduce hazards, like garden ponds—they need hedgehog ladders to escape.”

“Hedgehog ladders—now you’re joking.”

“I’m not, drowning kills them, especially young ones. People put nets over fishponds to keep herons and gulls from predating their precious goldfish and the hedgehogs either get entangled or stuck underneath it. The hedgehog ladder is a piece of roughened timber or tile, which they can use to climb out on.”

“Can they climb?”

“Yes but not enough to get out of plastic ponds or over garden fences, so holes about the size of a cat flap in fences enable them to wander through gardens, providing they don’t meet the family dog or slug pellets.”

“I thought they were dog proof, roll up into a ball and so on.”

“A fox can kill them, so a dog would have little trouble. In the wild, if you go to natural predators, the biggest one is the badger who can tear them apart in no time.”

“Wow. I don’t suppose they give them TB as well do they?”

“I read somewhere that badgers like salt licks that farmers put out for cows. It’s thought that they may be implicated in the transmission of the disease.”

“Cor, you know your stuff, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re so modest, professor, which is something that I noticed from the beginning of working with you. I wanted to study dormice because of seeing your work with them, but maybe I should do hedgehogs instead.”

“Over three years you’d have time to do both and hedgehogs is easier, you can do that in an urban or suburban environment, although both are mainly nocturnal creatures.”

“How would I know I’ve got hedgehogs in a garden?”

“Easiest way is to set footprint traps.”

“How d’you do that?”

“You’ll learn that on the course but essentially it’s about putting down special paper over an ink pad and anything walking over it leaves footprints. Motion detecting camcorders are another way plus getting people to tell you if they have hedgehogs.”

“It’s so easy when you know how, isn’t it?”

“Uh—not really, because the weather is always wrong or you set up your camera to record low level stuff and somebody’s dog eats it.”

She burst into laughter. “Honestly, no wonder they love having you teach them, you’re like a stand up comedienne.”

“It’s funny in the safety of a lecture room but not when your resources are precious and some bast...nice person sees your camera in the woods and walks off with it.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience.”

“I’m afraid so. Humans are a total pain yet we’re stuck with them. They destroy habitats, sometimes wantonly. They kill for fun, sometimes wantonly and they seem to think they have some god given right to do just as they want.”

“Don’t they?”

“I hope that wasn’t a serious question.”

“I’m sure you’ve dealt with it before.”

“Oh yes, but so you don’t get the full anti-religious rant, let me tell you the facts. Humans are just clever apes, some are too clever for their own good and some are dumber than our nearest relative the chimpanzee. There is evidence in DNA to support this and the fossil record supports evolutionary development, which we’re learning is probably more complex than we once thought.

“There is no evidence for a god nor intelligent design. It’s all based upon people’s personal subjective experiences and hearing voices is more likely to be mental illness than divine communication. However, religion is based on faith and doesn’t need evidence—yet they insist evolution does. No amount of evidence will prove to the believers that they’re wrong.”

“Isn’t there a danger you could be just as dogmatic as the believers?”

I smiled, she was already questioning things—she’d make a good student and hopefully, scientist. “Oh yes, I’m a believer—didn’t you know?”

“Eh?” she looked perplexed.

“Yeah, my god is scientific method, not some ancient mumbo jumbo.”

“Oh, for a moment you had me worried.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2659 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 did some paperwork and was disturbed by a knock on my door, “Professor, you have a visitor.”

I looked up from my desk, I could have done without the disruption, “Who is it?”

“The police.”

“What?” First thought has anything happened to a loved one, second thought, have I done anything wrong? “You’d best show them in.”

I stood up and in strolled Andy Bond and a younger woman. “Lady Cameron,” he said nodding.

“PC Bond,” I said returning his greeting.

“This is WPC Molly Terry.”

“Good morning,” I said to the young woman. She looked about fifteen.

“Ma’am,” she said back.

“It’s about the incident the other morning—the chap who took a poke at you.”

“Ah yes, poor Quentin with the sore puddy.”

“He actually fractured three bones in his hand.”

“Teach him to go round punching vans then, won’t it.”

“The film was fairly clear that he attempted to hit you and you ducked out of the way, but the next bit tended to suggest you pushed him against the van.”

“If I remember he was sick and collapsed against the van I just tried to slow down his descent so he didn’t hurt anything else.”

“Can we do a statement to say that; his lawyers are suggesting you hurt him when he was already injured.”

“Does he know who I am?”

“I suspect he does now, or his lawyers do.”

“Well you can tell them I shall defend myself and come after them for damages advising him to sue.”

“I’m sure your legal team will make them see sense, however, we’ve been told to investigate in case you actually assaulted him.”

“I didn’t harm him one bit, I was trying to save him not hurt him. If I’d wanted to hurt him I would have done so when he tried to hit me. That would have been self defence. I chose not to retaliate so I’m not sure what this is all about.”

“A chief inspector saw the film and asked us to get a statement, it will go off to the CPS with the film and they decide.”

“You are joking?”

“Sorry, Cathy, I’m just following orders.”

“This is ridiculous, I try to stop someone from hurting themselves and I could be prosecuted.”

Andy shrugged.

I sat at the computer and typed out a report of how I remembered the incident and printed it for them. He thanked me and they left.

“Cuppa?” asked Delia and went off to make one.

I sat sipping it, “I can’t believe it, I helped the guy who tried to hit me avoid falling and hurting himself and he’s asking for a prosecution for injuring him, or his lawyers are.”

“But he was trying to hurt you, wasn’t he?”

“Exactly.” Then I had an idea, “Call the porter’s lodge will you and see if they have a record of the incident.”

“What like a log?”

“No, they have a camcorder on top of their building.” She dashed out and returned a few moments later.

“They’re having a look.”

I wasn’t too hopeful as these things don’t work half the time, but I knew they had used it for parking violations and it was good enough to read number plates.

I tried to get back to my work but my concentration had gone. Delia popped over to the refectory and got me a tuna and cucumber roll, I wasn’t really hungry but ate it so as not to seem ungrateful for her efforts. I drank a cup of tea to wash it down and tried to do some more work. I was reading some data Dan had sent from the visitor centre and trying to put it into a report for the bank—well for Henry. He wanted to have something to share with some group of bankers he met with regularly. He said he was trying to encourage environmental awareness amongst his peers. I thought he more likely wanted to show off—it was an area where High St was leading—so a bit of one up-manship could look good for five minutes: having said that, Henry had been pretty good in supporting me, the university and the environment. Simon had told me what their sponsorship had cost but I suspect Natwest spent more on Cricket and RBS probably spent just as much on Rugby with the Six Nations, Barclays probably had a bigger bill from soccer but they all spent on pet projects.

I liked to think that although the sports stuff was obviously good, supporting the environment was better and actually brought back less financial return—leastways in the short run—in the long run, saving the planet might be a bit more useful than sport, but then I was biased.
At two o’clock Delia came in holding a DVD disc. We played it in my laptop and it clearly showed Quentin falling back against the van and me trying to stop his head hitting the ground. It also showed him vomiting into his car. Later it showed me closing the window and locking his car and handing the keys to one of the admin staff who placed a notice on the car windscreen to stop it being clamped or towed away.

“We need a copy to send to the police and to Jason, he’s got the other one.”

“Okay, I’ll go and do those for you now.”

“Delia,” I called her back. “Thank you.”

“’S okay,” she smiled back.

“I appreciate everything you do for me although I don’t always have time to say so.”

“I dunno,” she replied, “getting me a sponsored place to study under one of the best zoologists in England probably says quite a lot.”

“Sadly he’s still acting dean, so you’ll have to make do with me.”

She pulled a face and left.

I emailed Jason the clip but also sent him the disc by recorded delivery. I had an acknowledgement from his office to say they’d got the email and attachment. I also emailed Andy Bond and told him the disc was on its way. I got a reply thanking me.

I’d just about finished my report for Henry which Delia would tidy up and email to him. As he sponsored several things with us, I felt it was legitimate use of my time doing the report and I knew it would keep him sweet if I needed help in the future.

All too quickly it was time to go home and see what the girls had been up to. The weather hadn’t been very good with some hefty showers and strong breezes exactly as the Met office had predicted. This was quite alarming as normally when they said rain, we all went out in shirt sleeves, and for sun, we all took umbrellas and rain coats. What is the world coming to? Reliable weather forecasts—is nothing sacred anymore?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2660 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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It was a couple of days later that Andy Bond popped by at the house and informed me that no further action was going to take place.

“You mean I won’t be referred to the CPS?”

“No you won’t be referred for prosecution, the new film backed up your statement very well.”

“I tend to be pretty honest, Andy.”

“I know, Cathy, but people forget things in the heat of the moment.”

“And then you prosecute them?”

“We don’t prosecute, we investigate and collect evidence.”

“What about enforcing the law?”

“That’s a different function, but yeah we do some of that as well.”

“Agents of the state and all that...”

“You are so cynical, Cathy. Remember that I didn’t have to come and see you, I could just have waited for you to enquire or heard on the grapevine.”

“Well thank you for telling me, at least I don’t need to save my energy for defending myself against spurious charges. I hope your Chief Inspector hasn’t got a mortgage.”

“Cathy, if I thought for one moment that you’d stoop to those levels, apart from it being illegal, your esteem in my eyes would have dropped significantly.”

“Okay, I wasn’t really serious but I wasn’t feeling full of the milk of human kindness.”

“Look I know you’ve had some tribulations with us over the years but I thought you were beyond those now.”

“Now hang on a moment, Andy. At times my interaction with the police has been dreadful and I’ve been shown actual violence on more than one occasion, but I’m also aware of the deaths of several officers while trying to protect me and my family, whose sacrifice I shall never be able to repay.”

“I knew two of ’em, good blokes.”

“Indeed. At times it seems the police are made up of two distinct types: the good guys, such as yourself; and the bad guys or incompetents such as your Chief Inspector.”

“He was just doing his job as he saw it.”

“I’m glad no one agreed with him.”

“They did before the fresh evidence appeared.”

“What they were seriously going to prosecute?”

“It looked that way,” he blushed.

“And did you agree with them?”

“Not my job to judge people, just collect evidence.”

“So you said before—you didn’t believe me, did you?”

“I wanted to, Cathy.”

“Well thanks for being honest—at least I know where I stand now. Et tu, Andy.”

“You’re adding two and two together and making six.”

“So tell me where I’m going wrong?” I really wasn’t sure about my relationship with the local plod any more, but at least they’d stopped accusing me of being a man in a dress—not that nice guys like Andy ever did, but there were plenty who did or would if they could because the environment was still skewed towards aggression in policing and having been on the receiving end of aggressive behaviour, I certainly didn’t want others to have it befall them.

“I have a duty to investigate possible crimes.”

“I don’t have a problem with that Andy, except you seemed to be investigating just one side of things. Remember I’m the one he attempted to assault, I’m also the one he nearly killed on a busy junction, yet I’m the one who was being investigated and by someone I thought I could trust.”

“My warrant comes before friendships, Cathy.”

“So I see, but I still don’t understand why he attempts to assault me and when I try to assist him to prevent injury, I risk being charged with assaulting him. Don’t you see my difficulty, or do you lot just persecute the innocent now as it’s easier?”

“That’s below the belt and you know it.”

“Well explain to me how that man is able to flout various laws and yet I nearly get prosecuted for something of which I was innocent?”

“His lawyers complained, we looked at the film and saw their point. It really looked as if you’d slammed him into the van and he seemed to confirm it.”

“I hope he’s going to be done for knowingly making false accusations.”

“That is being looked into.”

“It better had or I’m going to bring a complaint against the force and the last one cost you dear.”

“I’m well aware you took half a million off us.”

“The charities I supported did quite well, though in truth it’s my taxes which I’m getting returned and for being beaten up and accused of being a homosexual man posing as a woman. I think you got off cheap—next time I’ll go all the way to court and bankrupt the force.”

“What would that achieve?”

“It would enable the whole world to see how many idiots are employed by the police.”

“Sounds more the objective of a spiteful woman.”

“Who has reasonable grounds to feel spiteful.”

“I won’t argue with that but what about those who died protecting you—are you going to punish them as well or their families?”

“Tell me that Quentin is being prosecuted.”

“Or what?”

“Just tell me.”

“I’ll tell you something, Lady Cameron, I used to know a lovely young lady who would help anyone or anything. She possessed a magical touch and everyone loved her—then she became older and more cynical which just made her more and more bitter. Does she remind you of anyone, Lady Cameron?”

With that he left. “Oh where’s PC Bond gone, I’ve just made some tea,” wailed Phoebe.

“He’s gone.”

“Is everything all right, Mummy?” she asked.

“No it isn’t, we’ve just treated each other as if they were collateral damage while pursuing bigger fish.”

“You don’t go fishing, do you?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Her facial features contorted as she took on board what I’d said and her response to it. “Sometimes you frighten me, Mummy.”

“Sometimes I frighten myself.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2661 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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“Was that Andy Bond I saw leaving?” asked Simon who’d just returned from the paper shop and the three of the girls who’d accompanied him.

“Yes.”

“What did he want? He had a face like a fiddle.”

“Just to tell me they weren’t prosecuting me for attacking the adorable Quentin.”

“I thought you tried to stop him falling?”

“I did, but he and his lawyers said I threw him against the van.”

“Well he’s a liar.”

“We know that, but his lies nearly worked, I nearly got taken to court for assault.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know, Simon, which was why I had to prove them wrong which I did.”

“Oh the other camera angle—good thinking, Bat girl.”

I rolled my eyes, one day he’d grow up—please. “Andy came to tell me.”

“That was good of him, so why the long faces?”

“I told him I was disappointed that he didn’t believe me.”

“How d’you know he didn’t?”

“He told me he was duty bound to investigate any suspected crime.”

“Well yeah, he’s a copper, it’s what they do.”

“Even after giving a statement and providing the film of his assault on me, or attempt on me.”

“Oh yeah, silly bugger punched a van, didn’t he?”

“Yes, broke three bones in his hand.”

“Serves him right, if I’d seen him try to hit you, there might just have been three bones left unbroken.”

“Simon, I’m trying to eschew violence and teach the girls it’s wrong.”

“Men hitting women is very wrong.”

“Hitting anyone is wrong.”

“What about self defence?”

“Had I done that I’d have been charged with assault.”

“Oh so it’s okay for him to swing at you?”

“So it would seem.”

“Bastard, I’ll have his legs broken.”

“Simon, have you listened to anything I’ve said today?”

“Yeah, I got you a paper and some more milk.”

“Thank you, darling; but please don’t touch Quentin, let’s just see what happens with the police first.”

“Shouldn’t they tell you as you were the aggrieved party?”

“I don’t know, usually they’re here to arrest me.”

“They do seem to do that with monotonous regularity—but nothing has stuck yet, so you must be innocent.”

“Must? I am innocent.”

“Of course you are dear. So why the long face and with PC Plod?”

“I just told you, he felt he had to investigate even when the evidence appeared to support my statement. I felt his duty was stronger than the friendship we appeared to have.”

“I’ve heard it said that being a copper was more than just a job, it was a way of life.”

“It might well be, but I thought he was a friend, I was obviously wrong.”

“I think you might be over reacting, Cathy.”

“What? Don’t say you’re going to betray me as well?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh so now I’m being ridiculous?”

He shook his head and the void that appeared to be where my solar plexus normally lives felt like a black hole the size of a galaxy. If Simon couldn’t support me, what was the point of anything?

“I’m not betraying you, nor is anyone else. Andy or his boss were told you’d assaulted this Quentin bloke and he had to investigate. On a superficial level, it seemed that you might have done so but once you solved the business of camera angle, they told you it was a non starter. What’s wrong with that?”

“You weren’t here, you haven’t been assaulted by the police...”

“But they all paid didn’t they, so did the force, all to the benefit of your favourite charities—and you got costs, too. That had to be worth another hundred K.”

“What if it was? They assaulted me and accused me of being a man in a dress.”

“They were wrong and you showed them so, you proved your point, though how they could imagine a body like yours was ever a man baffles me.”

“You’ll never know how hurtful the whole experience was, the one voice of reason was Andy Bond—now he’s turned against me.”

“Babes, just let the fire die down and when things are back to normal perhaps we can sort out what is probably just a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t know if I want to, I’m tired of being disappointed in people.”

“Perhaps you expect too much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve and you apply such high standards to your own behaviour that very few other people can match it, but you seem to expect them to do so and when they don’t you feel let down.”

“Wouldn’t you?” I felt I had a right to feel let down.

“Not as much as you because my standards are lower, you’re a veritable angel treading this path, I’m just a clueless banker, a mere human, albeit quite a wealthy one—so don’t hold up any needles for me or any marauding camels that might be about.”

“What are you on about—there aren’t any camels anywhere near here.”

“I was referring to the camels passing through the eye of a needle and a rich man getting into heaven.”

“Why? It’s all bunkum anyway, it has even been suggested that it was something of an exaggerated metaphor back in biblical times—so what are you on about?” I felt tired and confused because I couldn’t follow his reasoning. A few minutes more and I was going for a lie down, this conversation was irritating me, like everything at the moment.”

“Muum?”

“Yes, Danielle?”

“Fancy a bike ride?”

I looked at my watch, we had at least an hour to lunch. “Will you watch the kids?” I asked Simon.

He sighed but agreed and Danni and I slipped away on two wheels. I needed to vent so I took us up Portsdown hill. I was so angry with everything, I stamped on the pedals and tore up the hill leaving Danielle in my wake. Half way up my strength began to desert me and it was a real struggle to get to the top without falling off. Danielle arrived a couple of minutes later.

“Feel better?” she asked in between panting and coughing.

“Yes thank you.” It was true, I did, mainly because I was too tired to hold any animosity for anyone, even Andy Bond.

“Home then?”

“Give me a couple more minutes.”

“Okay,” she agreed taking a swallow from her water bottle.

“They say it’s going to rain later,” I said after remaining silent for several minutes.

She looked at the sunshine and said, “Is it? Mind you that wind is getting stronger.”

“Okay, let’s head for home—and, Danielle...”

“Yes Mum?”

“Thank you.”

“’s okay,” she gave me a beaming smile.

“Whose idea was it?”

“What?”

“The bike ride.”

“Mine, why?”

“Really?”

“Yea—okay, it was Auntie Stella.”

“Thought it might be. That’s why none of the others showed when we snuck off, isn’t it?”

“It might be,” she said falteringly but it was impossible to see if she was blushing because her face was red like mine after the effort of the hill climb.

“C’mon, kiddo, last one down’s a sissy,” I said and set off at speed back towards the city.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2662 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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It was a fait accompli from the start, Danielle had no chance of catching me especially downhill, where my extra bodyweight would count in my favour; not to mention my better technique and experience and probably strength.

I waited for her for a good few minutes before she arrived at the bottom. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes watering. “Overtake any cars?” she asked.

“Not quite, did you?”

“No, can’t go fast enough.”

“I used to do it at your age.”

“Score any goals?” she asked.

“Touché.”

“You started it.”

“Shall we stop the yapping and get home?”

“Okay with me,” she said and led off.

We did the odd sprint here and there on the way back and on one occasion she nearly beat me by trickery pretending not to hear me so when I drew up behind her to repeat the instructions which she’d heard the first time, she shot off like a rocket. It caught me unawares and I really had to go some to catch her. I did but only metres from the line. I was still breathing hard when we arrived at home.

“Feel better?”

“Do you care?” I replied to Simon.

“If I didn’t why would I bother wasting my breath?”

“I do thank you.”

“I’m glad. David is waiting for you to shower before he dishes up.”

“Okay, I won’t be long.” I ran up the stairs with Danni hot on my heels and we parted to use our separate bathrooms. Fifteen minutes later, my hair was mostly dry and I was dressed in jeans and top. Danni emerged a moment later looking immaculate with makeup on and wearing a skirt and blouse plus tights and shoes.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To lunch, just thought I’d dress up a little for it.”

“You look gorgeous, darling.”

“Thank you, Mummy, you don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Had I known we were in competition I’d have made more of an effort,” I said aware I was blushing slightly.

“You’d have won hands down, Mummy, and I don’t want to compete with you.”

“You don’t need to, sweetheart, I can’t compete with the charm and innocence of early teen years.”

She smirked before responding with, “Well I can’t compete with the experience and sophistication of my mother, who is beautiful beyond compare.”

“What are you after?”

“Not a lot, but a ride to Cindy’s would be good.”

“Do they know you’re coming?”

“Not exactly.”

“Better go and phone her then.”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled Cindy who must have been almost sat on hers, she picked up so quickly. “I asked her and she said it was okay and she’d bring me over.”

“That wasn’t quite the conversation I remember having, Danielle.”

“Yeah, they say you forget the details of things as you start to age.”

“Must be that then.” I decided not to play games with her—least, not in the way she expected me to play.

“Oh—yeah, must,” she smirked as we entered the kitchen where everyone else was seated. If nothing else we got a round of applause.

In the words of the prophet, do unto others as we would they do unto us—but get your retaliation in first. “Sorry we’re late, I had to wait while Danni put her face on.”

“Couldn’t you have done that after lunch?” Simon gently criticised her and she gave me a shocked and then revengeful look, just waiting to hit out at something of mine if not me. Danni saw Simon was unlikely to allow any direct criticism of me, so she let discretion be the better part of value and kept her powder dry.

The meal was a delicious roast pork dinner with all the trimmings, though as I don’t like apple sauce—that’s not true, I do like pureed apple but not with roast pork, I prefer it with custard and a crumble top. Anyway, the meal was lovely and we thanked David who sat with us and ate some as well—he does occasionally.

Then after a quick clean up, I took Danielle to Cindy’s whose mother agreed to run her back. I reminded them it was a school day the next day so to be home at a reasonable time. I knew I was wasting my breath but I felt I had to say it, then it was home to spend some time with the rest of my brood.

I got back to discover, Trish, Livvie, Meems and Cate had gone for a walk with their Gramps and Kiki, to feed the ducks. Stella was watching Lizzie as Julie and Phoebe were at the salon packing stuff up for their move the next day.

The new salon was all fitted out and had space for two beauty therapy rooms so they could do things like facials and massages or even tanning. Phoebe already could do electrolysis but they were looking at the cost of laser hair removal although I’d heard mixed reports of it, including the regrowth of coarse white hair which even electrolysis was unable to banish. Having blonde or fair hair in places I might want it removed, I was aware laser was no use to me anyway because it requires pigment in the hair to carry the light into the follicle. Blonde or red hair has little pigment in it, as does grey hair.

Jacquie was out with a friend and Sammi was busy with writing some computer program and thus incommunicado with the rest of the planet. Simon was on ther phone to Henry about something and indicated he could be some time so I popped Lizzie in the car seat and we went to see how her big sisters were coping with the move.

As I had to keep an eye on the baby I couldn’t do too much except make cups of tea. Apparently the guy who’d bought their old shop was a barber. I hadn’t seen one of them since I was a kid when my dad made me attend one every couple of months for a short back and sides. I hated it, especially when he used the clipper things on the back of my neck and when I got to age ten I refused to go anymore. My dad was furious but Mum took my part and I began to grow my hair so by twelve I had hair almost as long as many of the girls and I was so lucky because it was just as luxuriant.

Until I went away to uni, my dad and I argued about my hair practically every time we met. It was the one battle he lost because I refused to have it cut, except to clean up the split ends. In buying my mother’s support, it always had to be clean, conditioned and tied back tidily when in school. In her words, “If you’re going to have hair like a girl, then you can look after it like one.” I did and still do.