The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3201 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

There was a melee of people standing around in bewilderment as the young woman shrieked and fell on the floor. I tried to catch her as she went but to no avail. I looked at my right hand, apart from a bit of a mess from whatever was on the glove, it was fine. I managed to get a technician to fetch me a specimen pot and something like a spatula to scrape the gunge off. She rushed back to me and between us we got a small specimen of the dark coloured substance.

The woman was helped to a sitting position and I asked someone to from security to get the police but not to touch the glove as it may contain poison. I then pulled the glove off her hand—she was still looking shocked—and we bagged it and then placed it in sharps box for safe keeping for the police to analyse. The little pot of the stuff from my hand went into my pocket for our chemistry department to look at.

I rushed off and washed my hands several times and dried them. They looked and felt perfectly normal. By the time I got back to my assailant, the crowds had thinned. I wanted to know who she was and why she’d tried to hurt or kill me. She was sitting on a chair someone had brought for her and she looked unnaturally pale. I stood in front of her.

“What’s your name?” I asked firmly.

“The angel, keep her away from me,” she ranted and fell off the chair in her haste to escape.

Diane arrived. “Police are on their way, the detective chap from earlier. What happened?”

“I think she attempted to attack me with a contact poison.”

“A what?”

“A poison that’s absorbed by the skin—the North Korean blokey’s half brother was killed earlier this year with one some women put on his face.”

“Oh god yes, I remember now. Are you all right?”

“Me, I’m fine—not so sure about her—she looks decidedly peaky. See if you can find out who she is, I'll watch out in case any of her friends are about.”

“Has she got any of the poison stuff on her now?”

“It was on a glove which we’ve secured for the police forensic people. I think she’s safe to talk with.”

“Perhaps she’d had ingested some of the poison because she just ranted about the angel—the angel who protected the infidel.”

“You see any angels?” Diane asked me.

“Apart from you—nah.”

“Okay, what is going on?” said the detective inspector from earlier on. “Lady Cameron—should have known you’d be involved.”

I explained what had happened and he looked at our assailant who looked to be about twenty years old. She was still babbling on about angels. I handed him the sharps box.

“Is this safe?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Well, it’s all right for you, I’ve got two kids and a wife to support.”

“I have a few more than that, but yes it’s safe. I’d get it analysed if you can and make sure she hasn’t had any contact with it.”

“You think it’s something like Sarin.”

“Could be Marmite for all I know.”

“Why is that poisonous?”

“Some of us think so—but officially no.”

“No wonder my wife’s always trying to get me to eat it, can’t stand the smell.”

He attempted to arrest the young woman but she was clearly in no position to take on board what he was saying in reading her, her rights. A WPC took her by the arm and she walked drunkenly alongside the policewoman out to the car.

“Is she going to be all right?” asked Diane as the crowd had dwindled to just staff.

“I have no idea.”

“She tried to kill you, didn’t she?”

“I think so.”

“So how come you’re still here?”

“I couldn’t go until the police had taken her into custody.”

“No, you nutty professor, how come you’re still alive?”

“She wasn’t much of an assassin.”

“How can you be so calm about things?”

“Better ones than her have tried to kill me and failed.”

“I forgot, you’re bloody wonder woman.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” I threw back at her.

“I work here, remember, the only one in our department who does.”

“Remind me to sack you tomorrow then if you’re setting others a bad example.”

“Actually, I came to hear this woman talk about Charles Darwin—she was very good.”

“I must have missed that bit,” I said.

“Funny, you look quite a bit like her except in one respect.”

“Which is?”

“She knew what she was talking about—see you tomorrow.” She trotted off towards the car park.

“Whit happened?” asked Tom.

I told him what I thought had happened.

“Sae whit’s this aboot an angel?”

“No idea, how come you can talk perfect English to complete strangers but lapse into Lallans with family?”

“It’s an ert ferm,” he replied smiling. “If ye telt me thae truth aboot thae angel, I micht jest...”

“A likely story, I’m going home.”

“Aye jest remember ye’ve tae gang tae thae polis, tae gi’ a statement, in thae morn.”

“Fine, I’ll have time to think of something before then.”

“Why no jest tell thae truth?”

“Would you believe it, if I told you?”

“Of course—I wouldnae.”

“Night, Daddy dearest, I’m awa’ aff hame,” I said in dreadful Lallans but he got the drift I think.

Sitting in the Jaguar, I was about to start the car when it went very cold and I began to wonder if I had been poisoned. I found myself becoming unable to move and I really did worry that I’d been poisoned. My eyes were drawn to the rear-view mirror and looking back at me was the goddess.

“Are you not going to thank us for saving your life?”

I couldn’t move let alone speak.

“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?” she laughed and the car shook.

“I sense you would like to ask some questions, so I’ll tell you what happened. We improved your memory, so you could deliver your lecture—you had to do that for us to draw out your would be assassin. Oh we knew who she was and why, but others had to see her for it to be considered a murder attempt. The substance she used if heated sharply is rendered harmless—and yes she’ll recover—physically, at least. We gave you the ability to produce that heat and neutralise the poison. It will return should they try again.

“You will forget all about this meeting but you will notice a strange car in the car park tomorrow and a search of it will show evidence of who and what these people were after. They really did intend to kill you to make their point—so in your jargon that would make them terrorists.

“How dare you think we set it all up—we knew it would happen, we neither set it up nor stopped it because some things have to happen for the world to move on. We just protected our servant who has yet to carry out her destiny, which would be decidedly more difficult if she’d been pronounced dead—mind you, the way she acts now, you’d think she was dead already.” She clicked her fingers and I jumped in my seat.

For a moment I wondered if I’d dropped off to sleep—after someone tried to kill me, how likely is that, so what did happen—just now I mean?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3202 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“Whose car is that?” I asked the security guard wandering about the car park.

He shrugged, “Dunno, Prof, but Dr Robinson will be cross when he comes in, it’s in his space.” David had agreed to take the wains to school and collect them, I wanted to get in early to sort myself for when the police arrived. Wayne, our security man, wandered over to the car, a Ford Focus. “Don’t look like anyone teaching here left it.”

“Oh?” I walked over from my Jaguar and glanced inside the car. There was a Bible on the front passenger seat. I dialled the front reception office and asked if they had an owner for the car. It wasn’t one they recognised and it bore no sign of any pass for the university. It also looked as if it had been parked overnight.

My next call was to the police and amazingly I was put through to DI Patchworth who was the officer dealing with the incident and that of the stolen material. “How is the young woman who tried to kill me?”

“You alleged tried to kill you.”

“I was there, Mr Patchworth, you weren’t.”

“That is true but it doesn’t prove anything yet. The woman is in the care of the mental health services as she appears to have had some sort of breakdown and keeps on about the Angel of Death stalking her.”

To me that seemed a reasonable trade off given her intent to murder me, however, at the same time I didn’t actually wish her any ill, providing she or her friends didn’t try again.

I explained about the car and he remarked that amongst her possessions, Judy Whitworth, the failed assassin, had a bunch of keys one of which was for a Ford car of some sort. I suggested he try the one in the car park and gave him the number. He told me that he was intending a visit to see the hall again and to speak to me about my recollections.

Entering my office, Diane explained that she’d spent the last half an hour keeping the press at bay—there was a rumour someone had died after I gave my Darwin lecture. She referred them to the university press officer, who had even less information than we did. Apparently, said press officer was on his way over. I told her to make coffee for all of us and that she should sit in as she was there as well and may offer a different perspective.

“Won’t that annoy the police—two witnesses conferring?”

“We conferred at the time if you remember.”

“So we did. Okay, I’ll make three coffees.”

Tim Barnett the press officer was fairly new to the job having worked in local papers up in Lincolnshire before heading south, where his wife was regional manager for a supermarket chain.

We brought him up to date as we knew things and I mentioned the car. He said he had a friend in the DVLA who could get him a registered owner’s name. Using my phone, in two minutes, he had the name of the keeper of the car—guess who? Spot on, our little deranged wannabe assassin.

I wanted to see what was in the car so got the gate to tell me when the police arrived. Two minutes after I got the tip off, I was meeting the plod at the car. I was politely told to move away as this was police business and pointed out that I had an interest as an intended victim of a murder attempt so he had to arrest me or let me see what they found. Muttering something about ‘Pension Killer’ he allowed me to remain but not to touch anything.

The car opened at the bleep of the electronic key and two forensic officers in overalls and nitrile gloves checked the interior—there was the usual debris, empty food wrappers, a coat on the back seat and the Bible. The boot, however, was far more interesting and in there they found a box of gloves the same as the one she’d worn and a container of some fluid which I advised them to treat with great respect believing it to be our contact poison.

The box they turned up with to remove it was like something out of a sci-fi movie and the person who moved the container was wearing breathing apparatus and big gloves and a protective apron. Perhaps the stuff was dangerous after all, though part of me wanted it to be the soup she didn’t have for tea last night.

We adjourned to my office and I invited Diane in again and we both spoke to the Inspector. “So far, the glove produced some gunk that had been so degraded by heat that they couldn’t really identify it.”

“If that is some sort of contact poison what happens to the woman who tried to kill me?”

“She’ll be arrested and questioned if she regains her sanity.”

“Why do you think she won’t?”

“She was worse this morning apparently.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that.”

“Is that a genuine concern?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“You allege she tried to kill you—so how come you’re not dead?”

“I appear to be somewhat immune to psychopathic individuals’ murderous intents.”

“How did the stuff on the glove become burnt?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you find all this a trifle suspicious?”

“Absolutely, but it seems strange things happen occasionally, which defy description.”

“Sounds a bit of a cop out for a scientist.”

“Not really, I might not understand things yet but it won’t stop me trying to find a rational explanation.”

“Like what—for the burnt glove?”

“I haven’t got one yet, possibly she touched some hot equipment.”

“Like what? Your heating isn’t on and everything else appears to be up on the stage. She didn’t go up there did she?” While I was trying to think of some sort of reasoned response his mobile phone went off and he excused himself to take it. “I have to go.”

“Don’t tell me, they found instructions on how to use the stuff in her Bible?”

“Please don’t say anything else, Professor, or I’ll have to caution you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Why?”

“Because you just described the item they found seconds ago.”

“Are they really that stupid?”

“Are you simply the victim of an attack by extremists or is there more to it than meets the eye?”

“Not from my side, I assure you.”

“We’ll see, Professor, but even though your husband’s bank may hold my mortgage, I will find out the truth of all this and if that means investigating wealthy professors, so be it.”

“I will assist you in any way I can,” I lied.

“You better had, Lady Cameron,or it may be your pension which is at risk—good day.”

“Good day.” I responded.

“Okay, the plod’s gone, how did the glove melt?”

“Diane, I have no more idea than you do.”

“Odds on it was the blue stuff—you know the light your hands give off when you’re healing or thinking about people.”

“You haven’t seen that, have you?”

“Yeah, just ‘cause I didn’t say anything doesn’t mean I didn’t see it.”

Bugger—went through my mind but I said nothing.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3203 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

For Orphan Annie to have with her muesli.

So someone else knows about the blue light. I think I can trust her not to say anything—I’m sure I can, at least in terms of deliberate disclosure, but then there’s that thing that lets so many of us down, unwitting disclosure, when it sort of slips out because one’s brain wasn’t in gear. Sod it, something else to worry about.

As David had collected the girls—did I tell you they were breaking up for the year—well until September, so you watch the weather will turn rotten and they’ll be moping about indoors like lost souls wandering round the underworld: either that or they’ll be up to mischief. In Trish’s case that always worries me, so I’ve got her a temporary job running the particle accelerator at Cern—only joking, Si is taking her up to Cambridge to meet with the professor of physics, he’s also meeting up with his second cousin, who’s about seventy five and a retired mathematician, so Trish should enjoy that. I’d have gone with them but I have to look after the others. I also have this little matter of an attempt upon my life, so want to stay around home where I feel safest and as always I have loads of work to do both in the office and at home. Roll on retirement, but then the government have just raised the retirement age to sixty eight, still younger than the US, but by the time I get to it, you’ll probably need to have been dead for two years to receive it but will invalidate the claim because you’re dead.

Talking of the States, I saw a report of a group of teenagers watching and filming on their phones, a man drowning and they can’t be charged because there is no legal requirement to save someone in dire straits. I suspect it could happen here too, and I recall hearing people taking photos of someone dying after they’d jumped off a roof. Quite what this world is coming to, I hate to think but hope such morally bankrupt kids are in a minority or this world really is going down the pan faster than I thought.

We’ve already killed practically all the major predators, poisoned most of the insects and caught most of the fish in lakes and seas, after clearing most of the forests there isn’t much left for us to destroy is there, except each other. Perhaps our last act before we hand over to some other species the domination of this planet, will be to rename our species, Homo destructivus. We make the Neanderthals seem decidedly benevolent.

I soldiered on through two meetings and dozens of letters to sign before i gave up and went home. I’d let Diane go earlier as she had several things to do for this evening—they’re away for the weekend up to her mother-in-law’s at Clacton, in Essex.

When I got to the Jaguar there was an envelope under one of the windscreen wipers. As I picked it off the screen I had a sudden flashback to a much earlier period when Mary had left all those notes for me and then would have possibly killed me if I hadn’t have been all stuck up inside and a police marksman hadn’t shot her. Tom still gets some discomfort in his shoulder from the wound he got saving me.

Given the recent attempt on my life I wondered if I should have used gloves to protect myself and possibly to avoid leaving prints on it. They can’t miss my car with the plates Si got for me years ago, C4THY. Holding the envelope with a tissue—I was improvising, okay—I slipped the large blade of my penknife under the edge of the flap and slit it open. No obviously noxious substance emerged or was emitted, as far as I could see or smell. Peering inside I could see a single sheet of paper. I rsted the envelope on the bonnet of the car with my bag holding it safe, while I dug about in the boot and recovered a pair of nitrile gloves to do the job properly.

Eventually the letter was in my gloved hands and it surprised me in content.

‘Call off your destroying sprit from Judy and we’ll call a truce.’

This posed some difficulties as I didn’t know how to contact them; a personal advert or announcement in the Times, apart from being exorbitant in cost, doesn’t work quite as well these days as it did for Sherlock Holmes. Then again, I hadn’t actually done anything to Judy, she’d brought it upon herself by attacking me. Then there was the legal element, if the police found some toxic substance in the pot in her car boot, she’d be charged on those grounds alone—possession of a deadly weapon with an intent to harm or kill people, viz., me. So even if I managed to call off the goddess, I doubt I could stop the agents of the law—them with long arms, a bit like gibbons—from doing their thing. Doesn’t life get horribly complicated at times? I can’t complain, I called them, the police, that is, so will have to abide by the consequences.

I looked around, my heart was racing, but apart from normal looking university staff and the odd student, I couldn’t see anyone. I placed the note back inside the envelope and after getting into the car called DI Patchworth on my mobile phone. He asked me to deliver it to him asap, so that was what I did, took it straight round to him.

He must have told the desk sergeant to detain me because they kept me waiting while he came from his office into reception. The envelope was placed in a plastic bag and sealed and someone was sent for to take it to forensics. “Would you mind coming with me, Lady Cameron?” Like I had a choice, I followed him through the security door and up to his office.

“Please take a seat, I ordered some tea.”

“Why, I was supposed to be delivering the letter that was all?”

“I’ve had your statement typed up, perhaps you could read it and sign it if you agree with the content.”

It was a fairly accurate account of what I’d said and apart from some minor spelling mistakes which I corrected, I agreed to sign it. At this point two mugs of tea arrived and although it was stronger than I personally like, i drank it to humour him.

“Okay, Lady Cameron, what is this angel of death thing that’s supposed to be haunting your would be assassin?”

“I have no idea.”

“Haven’t you? I did some research, all sorts of phenomena happen when you’re about, don’t they?”

“It often rains as well but I have no control over the weather. You’re making associations that don’t exist, it’s very poor logic and even worse science.”

“Why do I always get the clever ones?”

“I beg pardon?” I asked feeling almost as if I were under suspicion.

“Look, you do the science and I’ll do the investigating, okay?” I nodded, it was about all I could do. “Now, just what the fuck is going on here? Who are you or what are you, and what is this all about, some bunch of fundamentalists you claim are trying to kill you and one of them appears to think you cursed her and now she’s pursued by some bloody ghost or other—and don’t tell me you don’t know, because you’re sitting there until you tell me.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3204 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, of course not.”

“Am I being charged with anything?”

“No.”

“But you are detaining me?”

“Ye—no, I’m trying to get my head round something which is just not computing. I know you’re not telling me the whole truth, but I suspect that isn’t because you’re trying to obstruct a police investigation, is it?”

I shrugged and wondered if I should tell him a bit more but it wasn’t my decision really, it was up to the goddess herself and she wasn’t telling me anything.

“Please, I need to know, however crazy it seems—none of this being recorded, so you can always deny it later. I don’t doubt they meant to kill you, the pot of stuff in the car is being analysed as we speak. I suspect it’s pretty toxic but somehow it didn’t kill you. You’re something special aren’t you?”

I felt myself become rather strange, I was still sitting in his office and he was still sitting in front of me, but it was all becoming rather distant.

“Catherine is very special, Inspector, which is why we have chosen her.”

“Hang on, who are you?”

“We have many names, Inspector, some more flattering than others, our name is Shekinah but you will know us as the goddess.”

“How come you picked someone who is outspoken as a non-believer, so much so that this group of idiots tried to kill her?”

“Life has its ironies, Inspector; she does not believe in a conscious way but she realises things happen which she cannot understand with her primitive science.”

“So why don’t you make her believe, if you’re a goddess?”

“One of the few things you mortals have is the choice to believe or not in the world beyond your own. She chooses not to believe, though she has seen enough to know she is wrong—it is, however, not something we press upon her, she must choose to believe in her own time.”

“How do I know this isn’t just a case of multiple personality disorder, this goddess personality being one of many happening in her head?”

“We do not normally appear to persons of the male sex.”

“But I’m not in that role now, I’m acting as an officer of the law.”

“We do not operate under your petty laws, we are the law.”

“I’m sorry about your goddess-ship, but that’s all I have to operate in.”

“You may regret this.”

“I’m sure I’ll live with it...”

It felt like hours later though it was probably only minutes but when I returned to the present time sitting opposite me was a very shocked looking DI Patchworth. I looked at him and he was obviously miles away.

“Ahem, are you all right, Inspector?”

His eyes focused on me but it took a moment to register. “I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“It—you know—the angel thing.”

“You thought you did.”

“I know what I saw—it was tall and emitted this golden light.”

“Yeah, sure it did.”

“I know what I saw—how did you summon it?”

“I didn’t do anything, I just sort of went off in a trance.”

“Should I go and see someone about it?”

“What a psychiatrist?

“No a vicar or something.”

“What for?”

“So they’ll know—about the goddess.”

“I—er wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Why not? I saw her.”

“Consider yourself fortunate, she doesn’t normally appear to men and when she does they tend to go a bit loopy.”

“Like that Judy woman in custody?”

“Something like that.”

“Why is she scared, it was awesome?”

“I think awesome originally meant in awe of something, which usually means a fear.”

“Oh.”

“Plus of course you weren’t threatening one of her handmaidens—assuming goddesses actually have hands.”

“She did. Is Jesus real?”

“I think she predates the New Testament by a few thousand years.”

“Oh—maybe I should have asked her.”

“I suspect for those who believe in him, Jesus is very real.”

“Yeah, I suppose so—but you’re not one of them.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What do I do with this case?”

The phone rang and we both jumped. He answered it and shook his head. “The pot only contained water—tap water.”

“So you can let her go then?”

“Yeah, what about the angel—frightening her?”

“I think she’ll find providing she doesn’t try to force her views upon anyone else, it will leave her in peace.”

“You control it, don’t you?”

“I don’t think you quite understand how it works.” Mind you, neither do I but I certainly don’t control it or her.

“She said you don’t believe, yet you’re one of its agents?”

“So she said. I didn’t.”

“You said you were a handmaiden.”

“In a theoretical sense—the whole thing is total nonsense to a scientific mind.”

“You’re as bad as that Dawkins fellow.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment—but Inspector, I have a million things to do, thanks for the tea and the chat. Word of advice, try and imagine you dreamt all this, it makes more sense.”

“I can’t believe I saw it.”

“Perhaps it was something in your tea—good day, Inspector.” I left before he could say anything else, he was still staring up at the wall behind me.

An officer called to see me the next day to say they had released my would-be killer as they had no evidence to hold her and that DI Patchworth had gone sick with stress. I thought we were supposed to be the weaker sex—yeah right.

The girls were pleased to see me but were worried that I was so late coming home. I told them that I had to see the police. They accepted my explanation without need for further details, which was good, though they seem to accept gods and goddesses without too much bother, unlike me. They don’t fit my map of the universe, so I see them as being some sort of hallucination—which was what the Inspector saw, but he was gullible enough to believe his own eyes—they can deceive.

It was the last day of term and I’d forgotten, apparently Danielle hadn’t and spoke to David about taking treats to school—seems they conspired to outdo anyone else. She didn’t tell me this, it was David who was bragging about making smoked salmon quiche and vol-au-vents. I stopped listening, I was too concerned that Danielle was flaunting our lifestyle to others who may be poorer—of course they’re poorer, Simon is one of the richest men in Europe, let alone Britain. I was thinking that I might need a word in her ear when David asked me not to tell her that he’d told me—as much of it was his idea. He was now lying to protect her. I would speak to her but not today and not directly about the classroom parties, instead I’m sure I’ll find an opportunity to let her know how I expect her to behave—after all, neither Simon nor I flaunt our wealth—it just isn’t cricket.

I made David and me a cuppa and then asked him what was for dinner. Smoked salmon apparently he’d bought a job lot of it—I asked for some with scrambled eggs on toast. He nodded and said, “Good call.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3205 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

It felt rather quiet without Trish in the house. Cambridge isn’t that far away but it felt like it was a different continent. I wished I’d gone now, I mean how will she cope without her mum there? I would find out an hour or so later.

We’d just finished dinner and I was still on the post-prandial mellowness that follows a much enjoyed meal, when the white tornado swept in. I was sure she’d grown since she left home that morning. “Mummy, it was brill, they gave me this exam paper to do and I finished it in half an hour—well the bits I could do. I was supposed to take two hours but I wanted to look around and ask lots of questions.”

“Sounds like you enjoyed yourself, sweetheart.”

“Oh yes, Mummy, it was great, what’s for dinner, I’m starvin’?”

I fed our two intrepid travellers and as soon as she’d eaten, she went off to show the others her pictures of Cambridge, a very beautiful city. I had Simon alone. “What did they think of her?”

“They want her, but at twelve she’s just a little too young. They’ll take her in October next year to read physics and maths. They’ll also send her some problems to solve each week via the internet—she showed them she was capable of using the net to do them and she’s looking forward to seeing them.”

“How did she do in her exam paper?”

“There were six questions, I couldn’t even understand them let alone answer them. She answered five in half an hour and got them right, the other one was a something she’d never seen before, the guy she saw was very impressed but he said she was just too young to attend a university designed for students six or seven years older than she is.”

“So how are we going to work this, neither of us can babysit her and the university can’t, she’s very naïve trusting and thus very vulnerable. She’ll have very little social life because she’s so young, so perhaps we’d be better waiting for a couple of years.”

“They want her.”

“You mean they don’t want Oxford to get her—that would be more manageable but still beyond easy.”

“Perhaps—look, have we the right to prevent her reaching her full potential?”

“We have an obligation to protect her until she’s able to do it herself and that’s years away. It would only take one paedophile...”

“The university would have some obligation surely?”

“To educate her, the rest would be up us, as her parents. Why couldn’t she have been an ordinary kid?”

“You promised her to get her into any university at which she wanted to study.”

“I know, but little did I think that would be at age thirteen. We can’t let her go, it’s too dangerous.”

“You can tell her then.”

“Couldn’t we employ someone like a nanny, you know rent a house for them both, she could take her to college and collect her in the afternoon.”

“It would need to be someone very trustworthy who was prepared to become very bored most of the time. In fact we’d probably need a team of people who spent a couple of weeks with her and then went off for a rest.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“It probably would be—but she’s so young.”

“I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am on one level but I keep seeing the pit fall and practicalities.”

“I know, I just thought it would eb such an achievement.”

“Si, it would be but there are as many dangers as there are advantages.”

“You’re right, we’ll have to tell her no.”

“Tell me what? Are you saying I can’t go to Cambridge?”

“We have some things to sort out before we can say yes,” I said feeling myself glowing with embarrassment.

“Well you’d better do it soon, because I’m going to Cambridge whether you like it or not.”

“Not with that attitude you’re not. Remember, you still need parental consent and I’m not prepared to give that unless I know you’re safe there.”

“It’s university, Mummy, like the one you run only better. You go to work every day without a body guard.”

“I’m a fully grown woman, Trish, you are still a child, like it or not. I can take care of myself.”

“For god’s sake, I’ll be thirteen going on fourteen by then—practically an adult.”

“Before I am prepared to say yes I need to know you are completely safe.”

“Oh for god’s sake—you’re only jealous because I’m cleverer than you.” With that she stormed out of the room and ran up the stairs.

“I’ve had a very trying day, a full blown Trish tantrum is not helping my headache.”

“They were very keen to have her, the guy said she was the brightest one he’d seen for a decade.”

“It’s not her cleverness that’s in dispute, it’s her age and maturity.”

“I know, I know. Where are you going?”

“To get an aspirin then to try and talk her genius ship into a state of calmness in case she decides to murder us in our beds so she can become an orphan to stop us stopping her from what she wants to do.”

He roared with laughter.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Oh.”

After taking an aspirin and a drink of water I went upstairs and heard Trish telling the others that she had a bit of time to figure out how to get to Cambridge by herself.

“But you’d have to find somewhere to live,” cautioned Livvie.

“That costs money,” said Hannah.

“I think you-ah being siwwy not wistening to Mummy and Daddy.” It was interesting how Mima was getting round part of her speech impediment.

“What’s the point of listening to them, I’m cleverer than both of them put together.”

“Why does everybody call me bighead?” trilled Livvie.

“You’re only jealous, just like them,” Trish hurled at her sister before charging out of the bedroom and straight into me. She frowned at me and spat, “You’re always in my way,” before running down the stairs. For the first time in my life I was beginning to think I might have been better off not adopting them. Then came to my senses and went down stairs to look for my affronted offspring.

When I did find her she was sitting talking to Daddy, mine not hers. They were in deep conversation, I slipped back out of the room and went to the kitchen and filled the kettle. Simon came along soon afterwards and we both had a cup of tea.

Half an hour later Trish came up to us and apologised. We hugged and she said Gramps had helped her see things in a new perspective and I wasn’t to worry, she wouldn’t leave me until I was ready. She went off to bed and I was left speechless.

“Just what did you tell her?” I asked Daddy as he came through the kitchen on his way to his study.

“Och, naething, I jest telt her ye wasnae ready to cope on yer ain withoot her support f’ a few more years yet.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3206 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

In bed later that night Simon and I discussed what we should do about Trish. He was a little miffed that after going all the way to Cambridge and getting accepted at such a young age, I was stopping it happening. At the same time, he could see my argument that she was too young emotionally to cope in that sort of environment and was extremely trusting and so would be very vulnerable.

“Anybody hurt her and I’d pay for them to end up under the next motorway we build.”

“If you can find enough of them, be my guest.”

“Oh, the mamma bear bit—okay, the female is the more psychopathic of the species. That’s Kipling you know, updated a bit.”

“The cake maker not the author,” I added declining to give the advert’s by line of, ‘exceedingly good cakes’.

“Very funny, now are we going to have some nookie or what?” In some things he can be quite direct, sex is probably the major one. I wasn’t especially in the mood, despite his efforts to make me so, but I played along so at least he enjoyed it. I know some women are highly sexed, I’m not one of them, so I’d rather have a cuddle and go to sleep most of the time. Having to clean up afterwards and then find him fast asleep, probably with one leg still in his underpants, does little to encourage my libido.

It was quite late when I finally managed to get to sleep, I felt exhausted and the school holidays had just begun—how I was going to survive for seven or eight weeks of this, I had no idea. I decided I would take them to the villa in Menorca for a couple of weeks and was half tempted to invite Diane to come as well and bring her daughter—at least that way, there’d be two adults. It was pointless asking Simon to come, he simply doesn’t do holidays, except for the odd long weekend and then he’s watching his phone or laptop much of the time. Cyber attacks are his main worry or the defrauding of his clients by fraudsters who often use simple tricks to con, particularly elderly clients out of their account details, who find two minutes after disclosing the information that their accounts are empty—having been distributed around the globe by the criminals who conned them.

Catching them is a real problem and when they do, rarely is justice done. I remember one of my colleagues bemoaning that his wife had given away their details and they’d been cleaned out, all their savings and holiday money was gone in seconds and the bank was not very sympathetic as the wife had been sloppy with her security. I did lobby Simon over it—yeah, it was our bank—and he got them to repay the money, but they also sent a strong message—be so dumb again and we won’t rescue you.

Sammi had confided in me that the security services were still pursuing her, asking for her to just sign up for so many days a year—a bit like the volunteers in the Territorial Army, I suppose, except she’d be paid a great deal more then them. She gave them a non-committal answer, agreeing that if a specific problem arose that they thought she could help with, she may do so if she had time. Not sure what I think of her as a spook, but they might take her answer as lack of interest rather than lack of time, which is actually what she meant.

I also heard on the grapevine that the LSE, that’s the London School of Economics, for the uninitiated, were trying to inveigle her to do some teaching there. That I’d whole-heartedly support, I could see her as a reader or professor one day, she’s certainly clever enough for it.

The next morning I sent an email to the guy at Cambridge expressing my concerns about Trish’s age and immaturity in a social context. He replied saying he understood but he’d keep a place open for her from next year and would also continue to send her problems to try and solve by herself or with someone from the school or my university. That I thought would help to keep her occupied, or her mind at any rate, because clever kids who get bored can also get themselves into lots of bother.

During breakfast I asked generally if anyone wanted to go to Spain and the response was underwhelming to say the least. Danielle was concerned that the soccer season was about to start and she’d either miss games or training.

“You’re a school girl, you’re allowed to take holidays, especially family ones.”

She shrugged her reply and Simon told me not to pick on her as she was at that age when she’d prefer to go with friends than family.

“She’s not fifteen yet,” I said angrily, “she’s too young to go with friends, unless it’s with their parents as well, in which case, I’ll bet our holidays are more fun.”

“Sure, taking on the mafia is always such fun,” she said drily before excusing herself from the breakfast table.

“She’s sore that they left her out of the world cup squad,” offered Simon not adding that telling her she was too young for such a sustained campaign, when she suspected they were discriminating against her for being a transgender athlete.

My advice was to show them what they were missing and she did rather overdo her reaction, in a friendly game she scored six goals before she was taken off to rest her. Her club know she’s the best player they have and is probably better than several who’ve made the England squad but they are older and bigger.

Hannah was in favour of going but the looks from the others shut her down very quickly. They all decamped from the table and I looked at Simon. “What did I say? Most kids would give their eye teeth for two weeks at a villa with its own pool.”

“Ours are most kids are they? They do things differently.”

I’d have simplified it even more, our kids are different—and I don’t necessarily mean the transgender ones—they seem more calculating at times, perhaps they’re just cleverer and clever kids are difficult. Except for the little ones, it wasn’t enough to promise them ice creams or small rewards for doing what I want to do, they want to say what they want to do and sometimes it’s okay and sometimes it isn’t. Making a bomb from household chemicals and blowing up an apple tree in the orchard was definitely not. You can guess who was the ringleader but the others were all on board. They still haven’t told me where they acquired the hydrogen peroxide.

“I’ww come to the holiday house with you, Mummy,” said Mima quietly, possibly so the others didn’t overhear her.

“Okay, sweetheart, perhaps just you and I will go and leave Daddy to look after the others.”

“Pwaps I’ww wook aft-ah Daddy instead.”

I forgot, she’s her daddy’s girl, so my only ally betrayed me. At this rate, I’ll book them all into a holiday camp and go by myself—except I’d spend most of the time phoning them or worrying about them. Bugger, I wonder if a human has ever managed to hibernate—maybe I’ll be the first one?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3207 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“Oh bugger, someone’s done the quick crossword,” Simon huffed. I ignored him, it is my paper after all, and I pay for the bloody thing. “Looks like your writing, Cathy.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“I could say lots of things, including that it is my paper, but i won’t bother. I’ll be in my study if anyone wants me, but that seems unlikely at present for some reason.”

“What?” he said but he was looking at the crossword. “‘No great shakes.’ I’d never have got that one, nor Manitoba or nous. Just as well you did it after all.”

I ignored him again and went to my study, someone had sent me an email about Frances Cobbe, a contemporary of Darwin. At first when they met, he thought her an independent minded feminist and supporter of women’s suffrage and he even sent her a copy of his book, ‘The Descent of Man.’ She moved in some of the circles his brother, Erasmus, was involved in however, they fell out over a number of things including using live animals for scientific experimentation; Darwin was in favour because he felt it advanced scientific research and Cobbe was against it, believing it to be cruel and unnecessary.

He had some trouble at home because his daughter, Henrietta, agreed with Cobbe. Darwin was in lots of ways a modern Victorian, anti-slavery and a believer in education for all and the teaching of science, yet he had a blind spot on the subject of the equality of the sexes, feeling that while men were brutes, they were superior to women, who were too soft and caring at times.

It’s ironic that he thought that vivisection was acceptable because he felt it was necessary to advance science by experimentation on animals, yet as a young medical student, he’d felt ill and had to leave the gallery when watching surgical operations. In those days, they were introduced to surgery by watching a surgeon perform operations in what was effectively a lecture theatre and anaesthetics were still a few years away.

He felt that vivisection was necessary and that the arguments against it were mainly made by women, who didn’t understand that it was all in a good cause, because they were soft hearted and subject to at times irrational thoughts because of it—men were superior because they were more reasoned creatures by comparison.

Given that it is highly likely that some of his symptoms of sickness and diarrhoea that he suffered for so much of his life, were possibly psychosomatic or brought on by stress such as overwork, is perhaps an another irony. Some of his symptoms certainly appeared very similar to what is termed Irritable Bowel Syndrome, today and which is thought to have a strong emotional component.

I replied to the email. What I hadn’t appreciated, was that Frances Cobbe was also lesbian, which my correspondent told me, and it’s tempting to speculate how that would have affected Darwin. It’s possible he knew, although, it was also something that was allegedly ignored because the queen couldn’t somehow countenance homosexual behaviour between two women.

Darwin was as much a paradox as most of us are today, we all have our foibles and failings, our prejudices and our discriminations. It’s even alleged that the man in the big white house has some, even though it boggles the brain that anyone of such narrow mindedness could be elected to the second most difficult job in the world—the first being that of his wife.

“Oh there you are,” said my husband standing in the doorway of my study.

“I told you where I’d be.”

“Did you, obviously didn’t hear it.”

“No because you were too wrapped up in the quick crossword.”

“No I wasn’t because you’d already done it, if you hadn’t, then I might have been.”

“Simon, you were reading the clues and then my answers.”

“What if I was—it’s a free country, until Brexit.”

I groaned then asked him what he wanted.

“Can’t a man come and speak to his wife? Does he need a reason or a permit?”

“Oh god. Look, Simon, whatever I say is going to annoy you, so why don’t you go off and make some teas and we can sit down and talk through whatever issue it is you seem to have.”

“You sound like a parent talking to a small boy—I don’t have issues and I certainly don’t want to discuss them with you. In fact you’re the last person I’d want to speak to.” He turned and walked away ignoring my calls to return and talk to me.

Oh boy, just what I need an irritable adolescent aged thirty five. Of what now was I guilty—doing his crossword, or not giving him enough time? I really found it difficult to find the energy to even think about it.

I have umpteen kids to sort out, so I don’t need another one. However, I also appreciate he has a stressful job and sometimes he needs to vent a bit, though I wish he’d tell me what he was venting about because I could listen more effectively and possibly help him. Some days, whatever I do seems to upset someone.

Shutting down the computer, I went in search of my grumbly bear—that’s like a grizzly, but smaller and less aggressive. I found him in the kitchen making tea, so he had heard some of what I said.

“Now what’s the matter, the real matter, not some stupid crossword?”

“Nothing, why—what gave you that idea?”

If he’s going to be like this all weekend then mariticide may be the outcome, I think I could plead provocation.

“Clearly something is concerning you.”

“So how come I don’t know about it?”

“Simon, please stop messing about and tell me what is really on your mind—is it something to do with work?”

“You just have to keep prodding don’t you?”

“When there’s something worrying you, it worries me, so yes I do keep probing in case I can help you.”

He laughed— “Help me—what if you’re the cause?”

That surprised me, “If I am, then I’d like to talk it through with you, understand what I’ve done or said that has upset you and try and put it right if I can.”

“God you sound like a bloody teacher.”

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to understand what I’ve done wrong.”

“You don’t know?”

“No I don’t know, please tell me,” I felt tears welling up and small drops of scalding water escaped my eyelids, running down my cheeks. My mind was in overdrive, what had I done or not done? Nothing was coming except tears and I know he hates those, which made them come even more.

“Think.”

“Simon, I am thinking and I can’t see what I’ve done to upset you. Please help me.” I was now weeping and feeling like a worthless piece of rubbish, a stupid one at that.

“Here,” he passed me a cup of tea but I ignored it, I couldn’t see it clearly enough to pick up anyway.

“What have I done to hurt you? Please, I beg of you, tell me—help me to put it right.”

“You didn’t ask me to come to Menorca with you—that help?” Before I could respond he flounced out of the kitchen leaving his tea behind and moments later the backdoor shut and his car started up. I stood there in disbelief—was that the real reason?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3208 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“Wossamatta, Mummy?” asked the voice that accompanied the hand around my waist. “You’s cwyin’.”

I dabbed at my eyes and blew my runny nose.

“Daddy and I had a disagreement, well a misunderstanding.”

“Shaww I get Twish, she’ww expwain it to you if you didn’t undastand.”

“Oh Mima, come here and give me a hug.”

“Is that betta?” she asked after a minute or so of me sniffing and snorting over her head.

“Much, thank you.”

“Shaww I get Twish?”

“No, I wouldn’t bother, I feel better now.”

“Oh, okay.” She shrugged and strolled out of the kitchen. I lifted the cup to my lips but the tea was now cold. I reboiled the kettle and made a fresh cup and retired to my study as I heard David coming in to make the dinner.

I shut the door and sat myself down on the sofa looking out the window—the sky was crying too—typical British summer, two fine days and a thunderstorm. There was no fireworks, celestial or otherwise but the wet stuff was hammering down, the drops bouncing up off the ground. I watched it for several minutes, allowing my mind to freewheel as I sipped my tea and gazed at the rain. Simon was out in it—stupid idiot. All his nonsense over feeling left out of the holiday plans. I’ll bet if I invited him, he’d have declined, too busy at work stuff, preferring to complain because I didn’t give the chance to refuse me. What a plonker he is, bloody fool. The invitation is implicit—we’re a team, except he goes off and does his own thing most of the time, he’s my husband, so what is he so uptight about?

A shaft of sunlight cut through the wetness and a rainbow appeared for a few moments before the clouds closed and obscured it once again. A reflection of my life, flashes of joy wrapped up in lots of greyness.

Was that really what I thought of my life? Was it really that bad? It certainly wasn’t what I’d originally intended it to be when I was a grungy undergrad trying to avoid being seen as any sex, so if I changed over, they may not notice. Who was I trying to fool? They all knew, seeing me as either an effeminate boy or a girl who didn’t know if she was lesbian or not. The more feedback I accumulated seemed to show the latter was the prevailing view in the majority.

I rarely went to the public toilets in uni having had several unpleasant experiences in school, where I was bullied and beaten up several times. Operant conditioning tends to teach you not to repeat unpleasant things and the behavioural change it caused has stayed with me, I prefer to pee at home, though I now have the luxury of a toilet attached to the suite of offices which is now my base in work. So I suppose if they didn’t see me using the loos, it would add to their uncertainty. In some ways I hope I made them all uncomfortable—serve them right trying to make me fit one of their pigeonholes all of which were wrong, as I was just a normal female—well, nearly. No risk of being mistaken for anything else now, not with my burgeoning bum and boobs. I wonder where Simon is?

I’d finished my tea but the clouds hadn’t anywhere near finished emptying their contents upon our garden, and presumably the surrounding ground. Now what did I do? Do I call his mobile or send him a text, allow him to cool down and come home for lunch, or is he down the rugby club watching whatever is on Sky sports and getting inebriated? I hope he doesn’t try to drive while he’s over the limit? Stupid man, of course I’d love him to come with us to Menorca—unless he wants to do barbecues—in which case he can stay home and poison someone else.

The phone rang and I jumped then snatched it up, it wasn’t my lord and master it was someone called Mandy wanting to see if my broadband was up to speed and had I claimed for the accident? I told her I hadn’t nor had I for PPI but I had joined the TPS—the telephone preference service. She rang off rather abruptly. They’re not supposed to cold call you if you’re registered with TPS, not that it stops them but theoretically they can be prosecuted.

I picked up my mobile phone and sent a text to Simon’s to ask if he was coming home for lunch. I made the mistake of texting, ‘David needs to know if ur coming home for lunch.’

The reply I received tended to suggest I could have sent a better one to start with. ‘So the staff miss me more than my wife does?’ It was so tempting to send one back telling him to grow up but even I recognised that would probably elicit the exact opposite response to the desired one. I suppose I could have sent one telling him that I missed him dreadfully and wanted him home to make mad passionate love to me—but it would have been a bit of a fib and I suspect he’d have twigged.

As I don’t consider I did anything wrong, except by dint of omission, he’s the one acting like he has a prickly pear up his backside—boy can those things prick you. Talking of cactus, I discovered to my disgust that the little cactus I have on my office windowsill is a grafted one, a Gymnocalycium mihanovichii, a little red cushion thing on a triangular upright, apparently they do millions of them in places as diverse as Israel and South Korea.

So, what to do about Simon? Should I just let him get rid of his bad temper and make a fuss of him when he returns? Or do I try and pre-empt any further misunderstandings or will that just add fuel to the already fanned flames in his imagination? Part of me just wants to shake him and tell him to grow up but he wouldn’t be receptive to that, it would probably make things worse—plus, is this really the reason for his sulk, or has something happened in work he’s not revealing? If I call Henry, he’ll stamp all over Si and that’ll make things even worse than telling him to grow up, because that’s exactly what his father will tell him, and how he should count his blessings about having such a wonderful wife.

I also know if he’d learnt of the omission to Menorca thing, he’d have told him that he’d have left him out too, especially if he wanted a good holiday. No, had to keep Henry out of the loop.

The phone rang again and as I was standing beside it, it made me jump enough to drop my mobile on the desk. It was Henry—have to be discreet here.

“Hello my favourite daughter in law.”

“How did you know it was me and not Stella?”

“The sun simply shone when you answered, had the rain continued, I’d have know it was my whingeing daughter, why?”

“Henry, you are so full of bull...”

“Yes, but you enjoy it really, don’t you?”

“I’m treating that with the contempt it deserves, now what can I do for you, father in law?”

“Dump the dummy and elope with me.” He does persist with his chat up lines even though he knows what the reply will be.”

“I can’t, if I divorce him I only get half his estate, if I outlive him, I get it all.”

“I like your reasoning, Cathy, pity your husband isn’t so astute.”

“You still haven’t told me why you rang.”

“Just to listen to your dulcet tones, Cathy—oh and to speak to the lumpkin you married.”

“He’s out, can I ask him to call you back?”

“Where’s he gone?”

“Not sure, I was busy in the study—he probably told the girls where he was going, he may have gone to the shop or something.”

“Okay, I’ll try his mobile. You’re far too good for him, you know—what upset him this time?”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t tell me he stormed off in a huff because he spotted the poison on his cornflakes?”

“No of course not, I don’t know where he went but he’ll be back for lunch I expect, his tummy usually brings him home.”

“In his case his gut gets there long before the rest of him.”

“Henry, this is the man I love you’re demeaning, I’ll ask him to call you when he gets home.”

“Your loyalty does you credit, my girl; I’ll try his mobile.” I put the phone down blushing—loyalty—ah yes, remember now, but at least I didn’t drop him in it with his dad, not that he’ll believe me. Bloody men.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3209 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“And you expect me to believe that?” My husband had returned and so had his grumpy mood. He accused me of telling his dad that we’d rowed and his father gave him a flea in his ear.

“Simon, I really don’t care what you believe, I told you the truth, I simply told him that you’d popped out and I wasn’t sure where you were.”

The look he gave me tended to indicate he still wasn’t sure but it appeared he was wavering. “Okay, I believe you.”

“I’m sorry about the holiday thing, I assumed you would tell me if you were coming or that you weren’t because of work commitments.”

“Oh that—yeah, okay.”

Well bugger me—the bastard wound me up, disappeared in a huff and now it seems it isn’t important. He’s lucky he’s not wearing that lasagne. However, being of the gentler sex, I’ll say nothing and suppress the desire to beat his head in.

I make lasagne and it’s okay, David makes it and it is heavenly. Ambrosia may be the food of the gods, but that’s only because they haven’t tasted David’s lasagne. For several minutes little if anything was said as we all feasted our snouts in the trough and swallowed down the Italian delight. As soon as we finished eating I warned them that it was a snack meal for tea as David was evening off and he was off tomorrow, so I’d have to cook.

“Can’t we eat out somewhere? We haven’t done that for ages.” That was Trish.

“I suppose we could...” I said with even less conviction than I felt. It’s a real expedition when we go because there are so many of us.

Simon picked up his mobile and a moment later was ordering a table for us. “Green room, one o’clock, wear something respectable—all of you.”

“Yay,” they all went dancing out of the room, led by the pied Trish.

“I’m playing tomorrow,” sighed Danielle.

“What time?” I asked.

“It’s a friendly, so—hang on I’ll go and check.” She walked briskly from the room on heels that would have given me a nosebleed, her bum swishing to and fro in her tight dress. I watched Simon’s eyes follow her progress.

“Like what you see?” I asked him.

“I’m trying to remember she used to be a boy—but it’s very difficult. How come you don’t sashay around like that?”

“Well I can’t walk in heels that high, as you well know; besides which my arse is so big if I waggled it about like that I’d knock the furniture over.”

He snorted. “Cathy, dearest, your bum is veritable treasure and exactly the right size.”

“You sound like your father—what was he after you for anyway?”

“He’s going to be at the hotel tomorrow and wondered if we could go for lunch.”

“So why didn’t he tell me that?” I felt like I was being treated as a ten year old, which might be appropriate for some of my behaviour, but not today.

“We were supposed to be meeting tomorrow but he’s altered that to Tuesday. Until he told me that, he couldn’t ask us to lunch.”

“He could have asked me,” I huffed then remembered the ten year old bit and tried to make light of it. “I mean I could have been doing something.”

“Well I told you instead, so wear something to get him going.”

“Simon, I’m a happily married woman who has no desire to flirt with her father in law however desirable he may be—and you should know better than to even suggest it.”

“Okay, I apologise—it’s just nice now and again to make him realise I have one thing he can’t have—you.”

“You make me sound like an object—I resent that.”

“It wasn’t meant to, I’m sorry.”

“You two at it again?” asked Danielle as she returned. We both blushed and mumbled. “It’s a ten o’clock game, so I should be home by twelve.

“I’ll come and watch,” said Simon, “take you there and bring you back.”

“In the F type?” she asked excitedly.

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she jumped up and pecked him on the cheek before disappearing in a cloud of perfume accompanied by squeals of pleasure.

“Some people appreciate me,” he remarked.

“Let me borrow the F type to go shopping and I’ll kiss you on the cheek too.” I was bluffing.

“A peck on the cheek for the loan of my car—it’ll cost you a bit more than that.”

“Like how much?”

“Come upstairs and I’ll tell you.”

“So how come my brother let you borrow his precious car?” asked Stella as I drove his powerful beast off to Salisbury. I wasn’t going to tell her but a gentle throb somewhere in my panties was the answer, it was a quickie in every sense and I was showered and dressed within half an hour of going upstairs. I didn’t actually like his car, it was an automatic and I prefer a manual gear box, but the temptation to ask was overpowering.

“You coming to the green room, tomorrow?” I asked her as she hadn’t mentioned it.

“No, meeting up with another Catherine—a woman I used to work with years ago, she’s got a couple of kids too. If I’d know you were going to the green room, I’d have postponed it—never mind it’ll be good to catch up.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it just as much. What did you want in Salisbury?” It was her idea to go there, just the two of us.

“Nothing in particular, just been a while since we went there.”

“Can’t remember the last time I went there,” I said and it was true I couldn’t. “Hope we can find a parking space.”

“Surprised you didn’t arrange to meet up with Siân and Kirsty.”

“Who said I haven’t?”

“Well are we?”

“Just Siân, Kirsty is perfoming a wedding.”

“Performing?”

“You know what I mean, solemnising or whatever they do.”

“Where are we meeting the good doctor?”

“Marks and Sparks at half past, whoops better get a move on—hold on to your hat.” I put my foot down and the car almost took off as four litres of engine or whatever is under the bonnet churned out its horsepower.

“Watch out, there’s a copper up ahead,” warned my somewhat paler passenger, so I slowed her down—the car not Stella—and we tootled past the patrol car more sedately, he however decided to pull in behind us and the miserable killjoy stayed there until we got to the outskirts of Salisbury.

We managed to park quite quickly and walked as fast as Stella’s shoes would allow to meet Siân. Then after hugs and air kisses we decamped to start our perusal of the merchants of Wiltshire’s premier city.

“How’s Kirsty and the baby?”

“Both are fine though we both wonder how you coped with a netball team, we find one hard work.”

“You just have to be organised...”

“Ha,” exclaimed Stella, “You, organised—tell me another.”

“Compared to you, I am...” I said sharply.

“Children, come along and play nicely together or you won’t get an ice cream later from your Auntie Siân.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3210 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

The shopping trip was fun and we caught up with Siân’s news and shared ours. They were going on holiday to Turkey, which didn’t appeal to me, especially with the recent clamp down by the government on dissenters to what appears to be fast approaching an Islamic dictatorship. I chose not to share my opinion as it would have achieved nothing except possibly to spoil their holiday. Instead I told her we were going to Menorca to our villa for a couple of weeks.

“To our villa,” she repeated in a ridiculously posh accent adding, “Nice to be wealthy, innit? I’m just a poor wage slave.” At this we all three laughed our socks off. GPs may not be the best paid of the medical profession, but they earn a good salary which is often in excess of six figures, but then so is mine and Tom’s as VC is only topped by Simon’s from the bank, but then he gets all sorts of bonuses although he does work hard for them. As I’ve said before we invest quite a bit in the children with savings accounts for them of which they are oblivious but they mature when the girls reach thirty—we felt twenty five was too young and it also gives the accounts a chance to grow and will be well worth having. Until then we’ll give them an allowance from which they will be expected to maintain themselves in personal things and some clothing.

If they go off to college or uni, then we’ll up the amount to cover all their necessary expenses plus a bit over but they won’t get carte blanche as that would just result in them treating the whole thing as a jamboree. They will however get bonuses for good marks and a final one at the end of their course for a good pass. Siân agreed it was a good idea to reward them when they were mature enough to use it sensibly and also to give them incentives to study well.

She asked after Julie and I was pleased to be able to say that she and Phoebe were doing very well with their salon and the flat above it. They popped in regularly but I noticed as they established their own place, they visited less often as they developed their own lives. Quite what would happen if they had permanent partners, I wasn’t sure as I didn’t think the flat was big enough for four people, but they may think differently and I do like my space.

We looked at all sorts of clothes and shoes for ourselves but in the end bought stuff for the girls, especially my lot when they went on holiday. I also bought a book on ecology that I didn’t have and which looked quite interesting for teaching material. I also bought the latest Donna Leon mystery to take with me for my holiday reading and one by Elly Griffiths. I’d probably leave the books out there unless I hadn’t finished reading them, because apart from guide books and atlases of Menorca, there aren’t too many novels or light reading books at the villa. I also did wonder about buying a telescope and binoculars and leaving them there to save carting mine about through airports which can’t do them any good.

As we were flying, I’d send some of our baggage ahead so in theory it would be there waiting for us. I’ve already left some clothes there and as I haven’t put on any real weight, they should still fit, including my swim suits. The children of course are still growing so they’ll have to take their best stuff and some clothing I’d send on ahead. In reality, I’d love to take my birding stuff but also microscopes and their accessories so I could play to my heart’s content, but to do so I’d have to go on my own. One day I may take ferries and drive down and take all that stuff with me and have a real bio-blitz holiday, can’t think of anything better than looking at birds or mammals, insects and even pond water—see how it compares to stuff over here.

Damn, now I’m wishing I was playing about with microscopes rather than wandering around Salisbury, even if it was with my sister in law and my oldest friend.

The drive home was uneventful and to pay a penance for borrowing Simon’s car, I filled up the tank as we reached Portsmouth. At least he wouldn’t be able to grumble about that and he was taking Danielle to play soccer tomorrow and collecting her. The last time she played in a friendly she scored six goals as a protest in being left out of the England ladies squad at the Euro championships—in the end they got beaten in the semi-finals by the Dutch. Danielle refused to watch it on telly saying that they only left her out because she was transgender. Given her body shape is very female, she’s skinny because of all the sport she does, and she’s a pretty girl with nice hair, no one would ever guess she wasn’t 100% female unless they did medical tests, so if she’s right about their narrow mindedness, I hope she embarrasses them again and continues to do so until they recall her—then it’s up to her if she goes or tells them to stick their team. Whatever she decides, we’ll support.

She’s also good at cricket, but getting into that may be too late now as she hasn’t played for a couple of years—but it’s another option. When she goes to university, she’ll be a shoe in for the soccer team, unless she’s stopped playing, but I doubt she will, she loves her sport. Trish is another matter, especially as she’s so precocious, so going off to Cambridge, she’ll be too young to compete on sports field against the ordinary students but I doubt that will bother her, she’s happy if she’s busy wearing out her brain, so the essential thing will be intellectual stimulation providing she doesn’t go into meltdown, so we’ll have to see how we can provide for her—now if we could only get Danielle into Cambridge in a couple or three years time, they could share a flat and at least there’d be a friendly face there for each other. Somehow I doubted she’d want to go there and I doubt she’s quite up to their entrance requirements and Loughborough would be better for her for sport. Life doesn’t get any easier, does it.

Simon was pleased to see his car back and the sod went out to check it when I gave him back the keys—not helped by Stella saying it had got scratched in the car park when I drove too close to the barrier. Okay, I didn’t help things by saying it wasn’t the barrier, it was the kiosk with the little bloke in—but it was the first time I’ve seen Simon run for ages and he liked the undies I bought him, I also bought myself a couple of new bras in M&S where they will do a fitting if you ask them, not that I particularly enjoy having a complete stranger see me in my underwear, but at least I knew they fit me properly.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3211 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

Can it be Sunday morning already? My eyes cracked open and I glanced at the clock, it was four in the morning but the herring gulls on the roof were holding a clog dancing contest and a couple of them were acting as the publicity for the event, squawking the equivalent of, ‘Roll up, roll up...’ I did roll but over not up and felt pressure on my bladder—bugger, I needed a wee. I crept out of bed so as not to wake Simon, he was tired after supervising the girls while I was gadding about yesterday, the fact that Jacquie was there, as was Danielle didn’t count—he struggled manfully on his own and probably paid them all to support the fairy story he told me when we got back. Apparently it cost him a fiver each—I told Trish to hold out for a tenner next time, she giggled like a fiend—some days I do wonder about that girl, not that I’ve heard too many fiends giggling.

After weeing I realised it was very light despite being dark, if you see what I mean. Sunrise isn’t until after five, so it had to be a full moon or near one. I peeped out of the bedroom window—it’s something I rarely do because in the day time I’m busy and at night it’s dark—well usually it is. I couldn’t see much in the garden but I could enjoy the moonlight on the edges of the clouds which it lit up like they were made of silver—the silver lining of black clouds, perhaps?

Of course the moon doesn’t produce its own light it’s reflected sunlight which obviously has lost much of its power by the time it reflects to earth, but I enjoyed the heavenly show and then decided I was getting cold and slipped back into bed with my resident hot water bottle to warm me up. The last thing I remembered was thinking about the beauty of the clouds caught in the moonlight and feeling pleased that I could enjoy it partly because I loved the beauty of the natural world and because I believe such things are a privilege to see. It’s rather sad that so many can’t share in the appreciation of such beauty, but then I’m an unashamed romantic so sort of predisposed to it. It was also better than worrying if my children will have shorter lives than I have because of two lunatics with nuclear weapons sabre rattling at each other. Surely, it has to be rhetoric, anything else would be suicidal but I’ll bet the people on Guam are sleeping less soundly at the moment.

At seven the alarm went off and I switched it off as soon as the lead story wasn’t about an ensuing nuclear holocaust. If it was safe to get up, then I was going to stay in bed a little longer and enjoy cwtching with Simon, or whoever the bloke in my bed was. I checked, it was Si, so I dipped out again. At eight o’clock the patter of little feet led to a patting of my face—not the best way to be woken. Lizzie wanted her breakfast and Cate was standing behind her chuckling and egging her on. Several alternatives flashed through my brain but it was easiest to get up and feed them while I roused myself with a cup of tea and made some coffee for his lordship.

Apparently, my two younger children were excited about dressing up to see their paternal grandparents—at eight o’clock in the morning—these kids are crazy, I’m sure of it. Their dressing up meant I’d probably have to press or iron their best dresses before they could wear them, only for them to drip gravy all over them at lunch—life is such fun with small children. I wasn’t looking forward to dressing up, I much prefer dressing down these days—a far cry from when I first met Simon and actually had a reason to dress up—now it’s just an effort too far. Hark at me, I sound like an old woman, but I’d rather be pulling on a pair of jeans to go dormousing than a posh frock to go and have lunch with my parents in law. Sadly life doesn’t work like that too often and in supporting Simon, I have to make an effort, it’s just the unfairness of it. He’ll pull on a shirt and trousers and probably a sportsjacket and be ready while I have to do things to my hair, put on makeup, wear jewellery and a dress, that given the weather of late, will have a force ten gale blowing up it. Damn, it’s my turn to check the dormice. I don’t do it that often these days but everyone else seemed busy this morning and those with young children will probably be queuing at an airport somewhere on the continent.

As I fed the little ones and the cat—no not to the cat, tempting though it might be—I fed each of them separately—I also wondered how much of a trek it would be to take the ferry to Santander and drive across to Barca and then another ferry to Mao. Probably more than I could do in a day, safely, and in the Veedub not the Jag, not too speedy or comfortable and the rental of a private flight would probably cost as much as the villa was worth. Should I call it off, the whole idea of a holiday? No dammit, I was worth a few days sunshine and the girls will enjoy it once we get there, they always do.

I made some toast and ate it with my tea, then after the two weenies had finished theirs, suggested they might like to go and cuddle with their dad—serve him right. I went and dressed and set off for the university and to attend to my favourite rodents.

None of these are pets, I thought to myself as I put out food and checked for waste products in the cat litter stuff we use under the cages. I thought about Spike and how much she’d meant to me and then the girls, and how upset they were when she died. None of the current cohort of dormice were characters like her, but then I was no longer as intimately connected to them as I had been—the responsibilities of rank had taken me away from them—and I did wonder if it was all worth it or would I have been happier staying as a lecturer and researcher in dormice, doing the things I enjoyed rather than being talked into working above my comfort level to support Daddy. As I could never let him down, it was a purely academic discussion.

I collected the Sunday papers on the way home and saw that the others were all up except Simon and the two little ones, who’d all gone off to sleep again. Danielle was supervising breakfast while i went and got Simon up so he could take her to her soccer game—he half grumbled until I reminded him that he’d volunteered and so it was his own stupid fault, so he’d better get up PDQ or I send the rest of them up to tear him apart. I don’t think he believed me—at least I hope he didn’t—but he complainingly got out of bed and into the shower.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3212 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

Simon, grumbling about no breakfast—his own fault—took Danielle off to her soccer match accompanied by Livvie with her camera. In the past she’s taken some amazing photos, given her age. I told Danielle to keep the goals down to single figures which made her laugh as she pecked me on the cheek and went off with her dad in the F type.

Once that was over, I made a quick cuppa and after its consumption went upstairs with the other little maids and we had a group shower, then it was drying them and their hair—Hannah and Trish helped with the youngsters in the combing out of knots and tangles by which time I was dry myself and my hair wrapped up in a towel. They all ended up with pigtails, except Trish, who wanted a single plait. Then it was getting them dressed and as predicted involved me ironing favourite dresses before they could be worn. We then had three of them running about in their underwear as I wouldn’t allow them to dress until we were nearly ready to leave.

I had to wet my hair again before I could style it, which I did in an up-style, defying gravity courtesy of some combs and clips. I wore a simple summer dress and kept my makeup simple as well, mascara and eyeliner, some eyebrow colour as mine are so blonde, and some lippy. Perfume was Coco and the jewellery, a bangle bracelet and a gold chain with matching ear studs. The girls were allowed to use their own colognes/ eau de toilettes and I let Trish and Hannah wear a little eye shadow.

When the soccer stars arrived home it was a rush job to get them showered and changed in time for our luncheon appointment, especially as Danielle needs two hours for her eyelashes, or the mascara on them, to dry. Having said that, she looked really lovely in a skirt and top and I began to feel old and drab by comparison to her. She was full of herself and Livvie showed us four of the goals she scored, which our photographic whiz had captured on the camera’s memory. All in all she scored another two, making it two weeks running where she scored six and she also made three others. They won nine nil. I asked if the other team had gone home after the kick off?

Simon drove the VW to the hotel and we were welcomed by fawning employees and led to the restaurant where Monica and Henry were waiting for us, sipping something fizzy. I agreed to drive the VW back so Simon could have a drink and he opted for a glass of red wine, Henry kept him company while Monica admired the girls and told me she was driving back to London afterwards, so was on fizzy water. I’ve never quite understood the attraction of mild carbonic acid and the damage it can do to teeth, but people drink it all the time in fizzy soft drinks where the added sugar helps destroy their teeth in record times.

I settled for a lime and soda, I know, I’m a hypocrite but I really didn’t want to be there let alone choosing a drink from a list of thousands. By the time I drank it, the fizz had pretty well gone but it was cold and tasted fine.

For dinner I had a lamb shank with a mint based gravy, it was different but I’d have preferred ordinary gravy and some mint sauce—but hey—you have to try these things. The meat was helped down with a plethora of fresh vegetables including broad beans and sliced green beans, cauliflower, broccoli and carrots besides roast and new potatoes. I was too full to eat a pudding though Henry ordered me a sorbet with ice cream—which I should have thrown at him but instead let Trish eat for me. He gave me a wry look and shook his head.

We all celebrated Danielle’s goals and he offered her a fiver for every one she scored next week. That would probably put her off as it would change her way of thinking about scoring—the game being a team one and if she hogged the action it may well reduce the number overall. I’d have word with her before then and point this out to her.

Before I could realise I was being included in a meeting, Monica had disappeared with the children and Simon, Henry and I were led off to a private room and coffee or tea was provided.

“Okay, what’s going on?” I asked as soon as the flunky had left us.

“We’ve been thinking...,” began Henry, never a good start to a meeting. He prattled on for several minutes and I wasn’t sure how I felt about what he said.

“Let me get this straight,” I said about to recap on what I thought Henry had said. “You want Trish to develop her potential and go off to Cambridge but you share my concerns that she is too young to be there on her own, so you have proposed to the master of St Thomas college, that you endow a chair in ecological science on the understanding they offer it to me. You must be crazy—that will cost you millions.”

“I appreciate we could probably run a reasonable cycling team for the same cost which would get us oodles more publicity but it wouldn’t solve Trish’s problem, and they have an excellent department of physics and mathematics. It would also enable you to start a new department from scratch and build it as you want to.”

“But everyone will say that you bought me a chair at Cambridge because I was too stupid to get one by my own efforts, not to mention that it may not have occurred to you that I don’t particularly wish to move to Cambridge.”

“Actually, Cathy, they told us what they wanted to do—or what they wanted us to do in endowing a chair and that they thought with your record, you would be an excellent choice and let’s face it, this will be far better than waiting for Esmond to retire from Sussex. I suspect Cambridge—best university in the world last year—has a bit more kudos than even Sussex, which is well up the food chain from Portsmouth.”

“Henry, I’m flattered that you should endow a chair and want me to take it, especially as it could possibly resolve the dilemma of Trish achieving her full potential...”

“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?”

“I can’t do it for two reasons, it would look like, because it bloody well is, nepotism; the second is, Daddy relies on me to help him at Portsmouth. The cries of nepotism there were quite loud until I showed I was my own person and threatened to bring down the academic council.”

“I somehow could never see you as a Bolshevik, Cathy causing revolutions, you’re far too beautiful.”

“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you thought, so sorry boys, I’m not going to Cambridge.”

They looked at each other and almost high fived, just what is going on?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3213 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“I don’t know what you two are plotting but it had better stop now because I’m not interested. My life is stressful enough with a university department and a handful of children to look after without you wanting me to negotiate Brexit as well. So, I’ll be seeing you.” I rose to leave the room.

Simon grabbed my hand, “Sit down, babes, listen to what he has to say.”

“Why should I? Henry I love you to bits as a pa in law and you’re brilliant with the girls, but you have stranger ideas about my capabilities than he does,” I nodded at Simon. “I am therefore leaving.”

“Before you go, what do you think about otters and badgers?”

“The former appear to be thriving the latter are awaiting extermination by ill informed and ill mannered farmers, doubtless the former will too by fishermen, if they’re not already.”

“What if you could help to prevent the mayhem on mustelids?”

“It’s too far up the food chain for any scientific advice to be taken, the government are extending the cull even though the results will be negative, but then they’ll bury those somewhere in the archives of Deffra.”

“You campaigned against the badger cull.”

“It was based on bad science, it still is.”

“So tell them.”

“Lots of better qualified biologists told them, it was political, a sop to the NFU who help fund the Tory party. They won’t eliminate bovine TB until they learn to clean up their acts and their farms, especially the latter.”

“Tell it to the minister.”

“It would be wasting my breath. If he listened it would be out of politeness or because his mortgage is with the bank. Then it would be equally politely forgotten because this bunch of morons in power have already made the decisions, they won’t review it because the two functioning brain cells they have between them are busy with Brexit.

“I suggest you spend your time trying to minimise the destruction it will visit upon the bank while I go and repossess my children.” I pulled my hand free.

“They’re looking for a new chief scientific officer—they want a biologist.”

“Good luck to whoever gets the job, they’ll need it, a real poison chalice.”

“They want you.” Henry stood up as he spoke adding emphasis but almost threateningly so.

“Tough, I already have a job—I might not be very good at it, but it is mine.”

“You are very good at it, Cathy. But just think how much good you could do, protecting otters and badgers as well as your precious dormice.”

“So could plenty of other possibly better qualified scientists, especially with mustelidae.”

“Otters are becoming a big problem eating prize carp, some which are worth thousands.”

“Only because stupid men want to play Tarzan and catch the stupid fish—the bigger the better—it hides their inadequacies elsewhere.”

“Carp are difficult fish to catch.”

“Except for otters, apparently.”

“They do have some advantages over us poor inadequate anglers.”

“Yes but then they’re fishing to eat, you’re doing it for pleasure.”

“It’s worth a couple of billion pounds a year to the economy, a big carp can be worth thirty or forty thousand pounds.”

“Not to an otter.”

“Quite—so what’s to stop the commercial fisheries shooting said otter?”

“A five grand fine plus up to ten years in prison.”

“Like that’s going to happen.”

I shrugged. It was a moot point that the recovery in otters in the UK was of concern to the commercial fisheries and nothing had been done to head off the protests by the fisheries and the anglers as the head of steam builds. Natural England claims there isn’t a problem because no one is complaining to them and they have no data which says there’s a problem—no because any otter which causes one is likely to be killed, despite it being one of the most protected animals in the country. But then, so was the badger, which it’s enemies claim is why it’s causing all this TB now, the lack of proof is irrelevant, we aren’t in the real world, this is realpolitik, the ultimate in pragmatism, no wonder Henry is involved.

“I can’t help you.”

“You won’t, you mean?”

“I’m not an expert on otters.”

“You’d look as good with one of those in your arms as you did with the dormouse, they’re both very photogenic.”

I nearly exploded. “Henry, are you stupid or just playing the part. Otters are ruthless predators, handle one of those and you’re likely to lose some fingers. This image of cuddly toy stuff, so beloved of leading wildlife charities is ridiculous. They are every bit as ruthless as the other mustelids, including the much maligned mink. They don’t come to let you pat them on the head unless they fancy eating your hand.”

“She’s good, isn’t she?” said Henry to his idiot son.

“Especially when she’s roused,” was the idiot son’s reply.

“I am leaving, please don’t waste any more of your breath and my time.” I strode to the door and as my hand was on the handle, Henry said something.

“You’d have been really good at that UN job, you know.”

“I turned that down too, if you remember.”

“Oh I do, it was a mistake then and this is one now.”

“I hope you don’t look after my investments,” I threw back at him.

“Only in the most general of terms, why?”

“Because if you know so little about them as you seem to about me, I’d be looking to bank elsewhere.” I opened the door and walked through it. I was bristling, Henry and his stupid scheming—you’d think he’d have learned by now. If he’d offered me a chance for Trish to have one to one tuition from Stephen Hawking for his precious jobs, I’d have turned him down. I can hardly cope with what I do now, so putting me in an arena that requires diplomatic skills and political nous would be a total mismatch—to start with, I can’t keep my mouth shut when I hear or see something that I disagree with.

“We’re having a great time,” said Trish, “did you have fun with Grampa Henry?”

“Oh yes, real fun. Are you ready to come home now?”

“I s’pose so, shall I round up the others?”

“If you would, darling.” I searched my bag for the car keys and found them, then sent Simon a text to say I was leaving in ten minutes, if he wanted to come, he’d better be there too. Needless to say he wasn’t.

“Are we going without Daddy?” asked a concerned Hannah.

“Yes he’s talking business with Grampa Henry. Did you thank Nanny Monica for looking after you?”

“Duh—of course we did,” sighed Einstein.

Monica came along as we were leaving. “You look irritated,” she said to me.

“That’s putting it politely.”

“Another of his silly schemes, no doubt.”

“Exactly so—I love him to bits but I can see where Simon inherited his occasional wild ideas from.”

She gave me a knowing smile, so had obviously been there herself. “Henry is a lovely chap,” she said, adding, “if only his ideas were half as lovely, he’d be perfect.”

It wasn’t a conclusion I wanted to disagree with because it summed him up quite succinctly. “It wasn’t the UN job again, was it?”

“No, thank goodness.”

“Because that’s up again—apparently it could be based at Cambridge.”

“Not my idea of fun, c’mon girls, say bye bye to Nanny Monica.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3214 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

I fumed all the way home but fortunately the girls were too busy chattering amongst themselves, except Danielle who was sitting beside me. “You okay, Mum?” she asked quietly.

I looked at her and winked, “I’m fine.”

She looked at me as if she didn’t believe a word of it but she said nothing. When we returned home the youngsters went off to play while I made myself a cuppa before deciding what we’d have to eat for tea—not that anyone should be hungry the amount we all ate for lunch.

“I’ll make the tea for you, Mum,” offered Danielle so I nipped upstairs and changed into something more comfortable, especially to make food, or to sit around in. I came back down wearing jeans and a loose top. “So they got you going again, didn’t they?”

“Who are they, sweetheart?” I asked sipping my tea.

“Dad and Gramps, pretty obvious really.”

“What d’you mean got me going?”

“Tried to involve you in one of their schemes.”

Is this child more perceptive than I imagined or...”Talked with Monica, did you?”

“Yeah, she said they wanted you to take up some job at Cambridge so birdbrain could study up there.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“That the United Nations job could be based there and that it was vacant again.”

“So the previous incumbent didn’t last long then?”

“Think they died.”

“Oh, that’s news to me,” but then it seems that I’m less and less interested in what is going on out in the world as it involves me less and less. Political decisions are made by people who have neither the expertise nor training to make them which means we are heading further and further into a sea of troubles, to quote the bard, with little sign of better times ahead, just lots of turmoil and turbulence. It’s like whitewater rafting without the safety jackets or the boat. I see Luke Rowe from team Sky broke his leg doing whitewater rafting, silly bugger; so I must pay more attention to things than I thought I did.

“So you gonna do it?”

“Do what?”

“Take the Cambridge job so drain brain can work with Professor Hawkin?”

“Please don’t call your sister names, she can’t help being intelligent...”

“Don’t tell me, anymore than she can help being so dumb at times.”

“Why what has she done now?” Trish did have a habit of being able to tell you what the weather on Jupiter was doing but not what was happening in her own back yard.

“Nothing, why?” the blush tended to suggest she was being economical with the actuality.

“Daft I may be, stupid I’m not—what has she done?”

“How do you always know?”

“The fact that you are blushing more than a light bulb, may have something to do with it—so spill.”

“Oh all right, you’d have found out anyway.” I nodded, more as a means of encouraging her than necessarily agreeing with her. “She told Monica that she’d really like to go to Cambridge but she’d need to talk you round.”

“She’d be wasting her breath.”

“You know that and I know that, but possibly Monica doesn’t.”

“I’d have thought she would, after all she’s pretty independently-minded herself.”

“Yeah but Trish reckoned she had some scheme she was putting together to convince you.”

I sighed, Trish’s schemes were worse than Henry’s. He did have some idea about manipulating people and a degree of charisma in doing so. Most people would far prefer being charmed into something than openly conned, even if they both led to the same end. Henry is a charmer, Trish has all the charisma of a ballistic missile. However, she is very bright and helped by Livvie, she might just get me going before I knew it. However, now I know of it, I can almost guarantee it won’t, unless she’s got better at people skills—which I was unaware of.

“Any idea what she has in mind?”

“No they went off together—she wouldn’t really be allowed to study under Hawkin, would she?”

“He’s a cosmologist and astrophysicist, so I doubt it, I thought she wanted to do mathematics.”

Danielle shrugged her narrow shoulders at me. I think she took hormones at exactly the right moment to completely transform her body, which was always skinny because of all the running about she does, into a totally feminine looking one. The same will happen to Trish of course, but then she was much younger and will never have started a male puberty—but then, neither did I so they suspect I’m androgen insensitive, which in some ways is fortunate but also makes me wonder if that is what caused me to be gender dysphoric in the first place.

“I dunno, do I? But I thought she was talking about him—he’s the guy in the wheelchair, looks like Eddy Redmayne?”

“He played Hawkin in the biographic film and yes he is in the wheelchair and suffers from a form of motor neurone disease.”

“I thought that killed you off pretty quick?”

“I think some forms do but obviously not him.”

“Yeah, just a brain on wheels—yuck—think I’d rather be dead than that—can’t do anything by yourself—nah, not for me.”

“I suspect he felt the same at first, but then realised that while it’s nice to experience physical things, ultimately everything happens in your brain which is where the experience is actually felt and interpreted.”

“Really? So when I’m running down the field and some defender kicks me in the shin, it doesn’t hurt my leg it just happens in my brain? That doesn’t make sense, especially as it’s my shin that swells up with a bruise, not my brain.”

“Yes but in theory, you couldn’t feel that pain or swelling without a brain.”

“Duh—I couldn’t feel it without the leg either.”

“Actually you could.”

“Don’t be daft, Mummy, how could that happen?” She shook her head to emphasise the point.

“It happens quite frequently...”

“Yeah, sure it does.”

“It does, young lady, so stop your scoffing and start listening.” She blushed and shut up. “It happens quite often in amputees and is called phantom limb syndrome.”

“I’ve heard of that, not sure what it is though.”

“I don’t think anyone does except that it happens in people who have lost all or part of a limb and they experience anything from pains to itches in the limb that is absent. The best explanation is about the grid theory where they think the brain has like a grid memory of the body and hasn’t adjusted to the shock of losing part of the body the grid is supposed to reflect, so it continues misinterpreting nerve signals from the stump of the affected limb and produces the symptoms that amputees complain about. Sometimes the way they stop it is to fool the brain into thinking the limb is still there.”

“How would that help, you can hardly scratch a wooden leg, can you?”

“I remember seeing a film of a man who’d lost his arm from below the elbow and he complained of cramp in his missing hand. They hid his missing limb behind a mirror and told him to look in the mirror and open and close his normal hand. He was seeing the image of both hands being there and working and the cramp was eased.”

“Cor, some of these doctors are pretty sneaky—you never thought about being a doctor did you, Mum?”

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3215 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

The girls were busy playing on their computers answering the questions I set them and I was finishing my tea while checking my emails. Oh great, just what I didn’t need, a paper sent to a journal about the predation of edible dormice by tawny owls, needing to be peer reviewed. That could take a week for me to check over and it’s not really my thing. Edible dormice or Glis glis (Linnaeus could have suffered with a stammer, I suppose) is a very different animal from my beloved Muscardinus; it’s a noisy, aggressive illegal immigrant which is supposed to be destroyed on capture though because of the vagaries of the Wildlife and Countryside Act, may require a licence.
.
They’re spreading around England like wildfire considering they first escaped from Rothschild’s private menagerie at Tring in about 1902. For many years they remained in relatively small numbers but in recent years they seem to have exploded in population and are thought to be spreading at about 5Kms per year, depending upon which expert you believe. They’re not really my subject other than being mammals and dormice, as I’m a mammal ecologist, but they just don’t cut any ice with me unlike another continental species, the garden dormouse or Eliomys quercinus which I saw on Menorca, or the Balearic subspecies of that animal.

The edible dormouse is the largest of all the dormice species living today and is widespread across Europe, where some researchers consider they’re squeezing out Eliomys from its nesting places and possibly doing the same in this country to our native hazel dormouse. However, it looks as if the big bully is here to stay as there are probably too many to eradicate. I suppose they’ll continue to provide juicy meals for various mustelids, especially pine martens if they ever manage to recolonise the more southerly counties of England as they are probably the most arboreal of the badger family and quite capable of catching our furry interloper.

I read through the paper and wasn’t convinced by much of the research, which is being done by a PhD student—if this is based upon their dissertation, they wouldn’t pass at this university without something of a rewrite. Noticing the time I left the computer to start making up a salad for tea with the thing which will actually get the girls eating it, some homemade bread. David made us a couple of loaves yesterday and one has gone already—mind you, with Simon home, it does tend to reduce the shelf life of any home baked anything.

It was nearly all ready and I called Trish to come and make up a mix for a new loaf. She still enjoys doing it, filling the machine, and when she saw the pile of salad stuff growing on the table she grumbled until she spotted the loaf. My girls will kill for home baked loaves—at least in a metaphorical sense. I liked Alexie Sayle’s one liner at the Edinburgh festival about no longer using rhetorical questions, no point is there?

Simon arrived as I was thinking of declaring it teatime and his parents who’d brought him, entered with him. “If you’re here to try and persuade me some more, you might as well leave now.” I stated standing with my arms folded.

“No. I’ve come to see my grandchildren—is that homemade bread?” asked Henry and invited himself to eat with us. I got one of the crusts as Simon and he demolished the loaf in very short order with most of the salad and the accompanying cooked meats and fish. I made two pots of tea and was pouring the second when Henry declared. “That was every bit as good as the lunch we had at the hotel. Cathy, you make a terrific salad.”

“Much of it was grown in our own garden.”

“What—that bloody spaniel has watered all the lettuce?” asked Simon

“I did wash it.”

“I helped,” said Trish deciding she wasn’t going to be ignored.

“That’s good,” said Simon, “the problem with having a wife who’s a biologist is that you never know if you’re part of an experiment.” He then laughed at his own joke, which was probably just as well because everyone else groaned, even Lizzie.

“Can we pway tennis on you-ah Wii, Wivvie?” asked you know who and before he could refuse Trish was dragging Henry off to challenge to a game with the others cheering as she did so. Within a minute only Monica, Danielle and I were still sitting at the table sipping our tea.

“Like overgrown schoolkids, aren’t they?” suggested my mother in law.

Danielle rolled her eyes, “Yeah,” she sighed.

“So, young lady, have you got yourself a boyfriend yet?” asked Monica of our international footballer.

“Um,” she blushed, “not really.”

“What a pretty girl like you, don’t you like boys?”

“Yeah, course I do.” By this point she was as red as the average pillar box.

“You have had the odd boyfriend,” I said trying to steer the conversation away from my embarrassed daughter.

“Gotta go,” said Danni rising from the table and then sauntering out of the room.

“Oh dear, did I embarrass her,” said Monica knowing very well that she had and that it was deliberate, a sort of toy to play with.

“Didn’t you find such things embarrassing when you were sixteen, Monica?”

“I can’t remember that far back, but I doubt it. At her age, I’d reached double figures in the number of boys I’d dated and had sex with.”

It didn’t exactly surprise me and I suspect Monica’s hormones are one of the controlling influences in her life. “Really,” I said as much for something to say as anything else. “Danielle’s quite shy, like many adolescent girls.”

“She takes after you, doesn’t she? I’ll bet you were shy around boys at her age.”

I shrugged rather than answer her question, after all it should be common knowledge that at sixteen, I was still trying to survive in an alien culture living as a pretend boy. I also felt myself get rather warm so suspected my face was glowing hot enough to make toast on.

“Oh dear, am I embarrassing you, Cathy dear.?” Monica was really enjoying her moment of power over me and I was trying to work out if it was just her pulling rank by dint of age and being assigned the correct sex at birth, unlike Danni and I; or if there was something more than that—perhaps she gets off on doing the power trip. As she was a guest in my house, I’d ignore her abuse, because that was what it was in some ways, but in future I’d avoid her if I could which was a shame because I quite enjoyed Henry’s company.

Henry saved me from my torment by returning sweaty and his shirt open at the neck. “My idiot son has just beaten me at tennis—first time ever—I must be getting old. He said something about some cold drinks...”

I went to the refrigerator and showed him a door full of different sorts. He opted for a grape juice and swigged it from the bottle. “Right, Missus,” he addressed to Monica and ten minutes later they left, all of us waving them off from the drive way.

Later in bed I declared to Simon that, “I don’t want that predatory female near me or my children again, or I shall say or do something I shall regret.”

“She didn’t make pass at you again, did she?”

“No, thank goodness, but first she embarrassed the hell out of Danielle asking her about boyfriends and then turned her attention to me.”

“Don’t take any notice of her, just tell her to mind her own business.” It was all right for him, I was still fuming while he was snoring away an hour later.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3216 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

For some reason the sun shone the next day and I let its warmth sooth my ruffled feathers and we did a butterfly count around the orchard and the meadow next to it. I had loads of helpers, though Danni had gone to see Cindy—she was celebrating that she now was on hormones after years of being on just blockers. They were going off to watch a film to celebrate.

Livvie had borrowed my SLR camera and using a tube with my small telephoto lens was taking some good pictures from as far away as about a foot. Trish and Hannah were using their smart phone cameras and Meems was watching the smaller girls like a mother hen.

We weren’t doing too badly, a couple of commas and small tortoiseshells along one hedge, with some red admirals and peacocks on the buddleia in the orchard. I tried to point out the difference between large and small whites and it isn’t always the size as some small whites can actually be bigger than some large ones—I know, isn’t biology wonderful?

The thing with them is that, the large has more black on the wing edges as if you have time to see that when they’re whizzing past ten foot above your head. In the sunshine we disturbed a basking slow worm which probably grumbled about humans as it slunk off under the hedge, it’s pinky-bronze coloured body shimmering in the sunshine. Like most reptiles, they’re what we call exothermic, so use external sources of heat to warm themselves up unlike the mammals which are endothermic, meaning they control their own body temperature internally. Having said that, I wished I’d worn shorts like the girls were as my jeans were feeling decidedly warm in the sunshine, as were my feet in my walking boots.

I’ve always worn reasonable boots but when I was in uni and we did fieldwork, and sometimes in classes, I wore trousers that I bought from an army surplus shop, which originated in the Italian or German army, no one seemed to notice they fastened on the wrong side—they were women’s ex-army trousers, but they seemed to fit reasonably well, even better when I got hormones and my shape improved. It was going that way already but the pills helped quite a bit and my bum became a growth area.

“Mummy, wossthisone?” asked Hannah pulling on my arm and my reverie was over.

“Speckled wood, that’s one of the browns, like the meadow brown—there’s one,” I pointed to the brown butterfly cruising over the meadow’s hedge. The girl’s laughter disturbed a sparrow hawk which shot off like a rocket, squawking agitatedly at us making the girls laugh even louder until they spotted the remains of the blackbird it had been feasting on. Nature red in tooth and claw. It’s the reality of life, in a less managed environment, by that, I mean one in which some of the apex predators are not exterminated by humans, everything is eaten by something bigger or more powerful. In Africa, lions are mainly killed by hyenas and hyenas are mainly killed by lions—which has a sort of balance to it, but many of the large predators are also injured hunting, which is always a risky business. Taking down another large animal is always going to have risks involved and things like cheetahs, which have that apparently spring loaded back, often becomes injured in the pursuit, their lightweight muscular bodies designed for speed often suffer injuries running over uneven ground.

“Look a fox, Mummy,” yelled Trish and nearly frightened the poor hapless animal to death. We could certainly smell it when we got to that part of the field. We also have badgers in the field, or the sett has an entrance into the field, it also has a latrine—badgers tend to keep their setts clean, sadly when they use a collective place for depositing their waste products, things like spaniels like to roll in it—which was why she wasn’t with us today.

When the butterflies were in short supply we turned our attention to wild flowers and the girls discovered that I was no botanist, having to refer to a field guide if it wasn’t some very common species. Finally we spotted some blue butterflies and spent an hour chasing those trying to get photos. We failed miserably but they all enjoyed themselves and in the sunshine topped up their supplies of vitamin D, which is manufactured in the skin by ultraviolet light—especially in fair skinned people.

At lunch, which David made for us, I enjoyed the luxury of having someone else make the meal and clear up afterwards. Then it was back to the magazine article submission on edible dormice—it was total rubbish and I said so and why, by which time it was nearly six o’clock and I rushed up to shower before dinner.

It felt good to wash away the dust of the day and to slip into a dress not that Simon would notice unless it was either very short or split down the middle. It was neither, but it was cool and after drying my hair I helped David dish up the meal. Simon texted to say he was staying up in town, he had an early meeting the next day and was staying with his dad. I wondered if Henry would drag him out onto the tennis court to avenge his defeat from yesterday—though quite honestly, I didn’t care as their rivalry was schoolboy stuff and thus outside my interest.

The girls watched a DVD of Frozen and then went to bed, Tom, who’d been at the office all day, read to them and despite their pretence to be growing up, they still love a bedtime story when we have time to read them one—though the type of tale is now teen literature—quite what the fascination with vampires is, goodness only knows.

I settled myself down with a cuppa and watched the JK Rowling detective story of Cormorant Strike on iPlayer—looked quite good and I enjoyed it, even if it was a bit clichéd in places. I’ll have to try and catch the other parts next weekend and the following one.

Simon called as I was getting ready for bed—he was lonely and wanted a chat, I was tired and wanted to sleep but I managed to stay awake for half an hour when his battery, or more correctly, that of his mobile phone, began to peep and he had to go and charge it. I was asleep minutes later.

The next morning I had to go to the office because we had a problem I had to sort out, Diane couldn’t do it, I also cancelled our holiday because we weren’t going to have time to go and the problem was going to need my presence as well as Daddy’s for at least the next week—the financial auditors discovered what looked like a major fraud and the university was a million pounds out of pocket.

The police were informed and we spent much of the day going through bits of paper and computerised accounts—as the money was taken from my department, I wanted to try and make sure we recovered what we could or at least got the bastard responsible, which at this stage looked pretty remote.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3217 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

It’s funny that I can read through a page of text and mistakes, spelling or other trypos leap out at me. I can look at a spreadsheet all day and not see what may be blindingly obvious to someone else. Okay, so we all have our strengths and weaknesses, but at this moment, I’d happily have swapped my literary skill for a mathematical one. I’d spent hours poring over spreadsheets and other lists of figures. Some sort of answer had to be there but could I see it? No I could not.

The police had sent in a forensic accountant and I left him looking at the books in the accounts department. It was explained to me that I couldn’t be the fraudster as everything I did was documented accurately but that someone had accessed our system and helped themselves to seven figures of dosh. Why no one had picked up on it until now was a separate question and one which we’d be trying to devise a system to answer or prevent needing to be asked in the future.

Tom invited me to go to dinner and as it seemed easier than sitting looking at computer screens, I accepted. We went to the usual place and had our usual fare, Tom his curry and me a tuna jacket. One day I’ll order the matching trousers and surprise everyone.

While we were waiting for the meal to arrive Simon called my mobile. Tom told me to take it and he went off to the bar to organise some drinks—a lime and soda in my case—I wanted to stay awake and besides I was driving. I explained about the fraud issue and lamented my inability to spot problems in spreadsheets and he told me to speak to Sammi. “She does it all the time and may even have some of her customised software which will find it for you.” By the time Tom returned I was on the phone to my daughter.

Since she had once remotely entered my computer, she could apparently do it again and providing I’d loaded the relevant accounts, she could upload them and run her software. She wasn’t promising anything but she’d be happy to help if she could. I wasn’t sure what to tell Tom, because what we were doing was technically illegal, though he knew something was up so I told him.

“If we say, thae bank is assisting us wi’ specialised skills, I dinnae see a problem.” I’m not sure if I ate my lunch feeling easier or even more stressed. But an hour later, without telling the forensic accountant what we were doing, I let Sammi into my computer and she uploaded the data she needed to use her program. I continued staring at the various screens, played and lost two games of spider, and drank enough tea to keep me running back and fore to the toilet.

About ninety minutes later my computer dinged and I had an email from Sammi asking me to call her. I did so immediately.

She told me the page where the problem was and that it had been overwritten to disguise the theft. She also told me she’d found that in a few minutes but she’d been trying to trace the location of the thief—would I believe Argentina? Seeing as I can believe six impossible things before breakfast, Argentina was no big problem—except we’d never get the money back from there.

“That isn’t necessarily the case,” she explained.

“But we have no extradition treaty with them.”

“Ah, that’s if you go by the legal route...”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“Well, I know who he is and where his bank accounts are—I’m also accessing them as we speak and he has enough in one of them to cover the deficiency he caused, so I’ve just recalled the money back to your account.”

“What if he does the same thing to you that you just did to him?”

“I’ll be very surprised.”

“But he could, couldn’t he?”

“Only if he knew more about computers than I do, my tracks are covered and he won’t even be aware he’s been stung until tomorrow. I’m updating your security, I’ve spoken to Gramps and he’s willing to do a contract with us to give you cyber security on your financial systems, which we can offer as a financial institution. You’d better tell your accountant chappie to call me and I’ll give him a version of the truth that will satisfy him and show him the money has been restored to your account and your security upgraded.”

“Are you sure it’s all okay and you’re not at risk?” I felt quite sick for a moment.

“Look, Mummy, I help them do this sort of stuff at GCHQ and most of the time they don’t have a clue what I’m on about. So I think I’ll be okay.”

“You haven’t been working on the Trump stuff, have you?”

“I can’t answer that, Mummy, official secrets act and all that. Tell the accountant to call me.”

“Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

“’S okay, byeee.”

I went over to the accounts department and explained what I’d done.

“That is somewhat irregular without speaking to me first, how do we know you didn’t embezzle it in the first place and return it after you were found out?”

“Mr Northcote, I don’t need any money, I’m married to a bank and am moderately wealthy in my own standing. I can also assure you I haven’t got the skills to do what was required, however, the bank does and has not only discovered how the fraud was done but also managed to recover the money which was apparently in a holding account of the same person in Argentina. Here speak to the bank and ask for Sammi, the head of cyber security.”

“Sammi Cameron, this is looking increasingly like a fraud by you and your family, Lady Cameron.”

“I think she’ll show you it isn’t. I’m going back to my office so you know where to find me if you need me. She’s brilliant with computers.”

“So would the thief, Lady Cameron.”

“If she’d taken the money, she’d have cleaned out the lot and you’d never find it or her.”

“I don’t know, the government and its security services are pretty clever too, they’d find her.”

“As she teaches them, I doubt it, good day, Mr Northcote.”

I’d just returned from another reduction in bladder pressure when my door was knocked and Northcote entered. “She is pretty good, isn’t she?”

“My daughter is a genius with computers,” I didn’t tell him I had another two at home who were pretty clever too.

“I understand how it was done and how she recovered the money. I’ll make a report suggesting that as the perpetrator is in a non-extradition country we would probably make little progress in securing a conviction, so I suggest we just put this one down to experience and as your security systems are being upgraded as we speak, sufficient action is being taken, so we need to carry out no further action ourselves.”

“Thank you, Mr Northcote, for your assistance which has been invaluable.”

“I try to help,” he said puffing out his chest, reminding me of a robin—the garden bird, Erithacus rubecula.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3218 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

For the muesli muncher to read with her rabbit food.

The next day I sitting in the staff restaurant eating a jacket potato when a vaguely familiar figure approached. He sat himself opposite me and reminded me that he was Ben Smithers from electronic engineering.

“Sorry to intrude, Cathy, but you have a Jaguar don’t you?”

“When I have a chance to drive it.” His look of astonishment showed he didn’t realise my situation with two point four million kids needing a lift in the morning, hence the VW. “I have more children to take to school than it has seats, so I use a people carrier most days.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“Have you used the local dealership for anything—the Jaguar one.”

“Once or twice, why?”

“It’s like this. I went on holiday to Spain a few weeks ago and about three weeks before I went my car broke down, something to do with the automatic gearbox according to the garage and it was touch and go if they’d be able to repair it before we went on holiday—we were driving down because we take the dog with us.”

I assumed there was a point to his story but it also sounded like it wasn’t going to be a happy one.

“The villa we rented belongs to some friends so we knew what we were going to. To cut a long story short, I got the car back the day before we were due to go, cost an arm and a leg but thankfully the warranty took care of it—thank goodness I took one of those out.

“We travelled down through France and didn’t rush, spent a night down in the Midi then over the border to Spain—went like a dream—the car that is. Got to the villa near Valencia and had a great couple of days just enjoying the sunshine, though it was a bit too warm for me.

“We decided we’d take a trip to Barcelona as it wasn’t that far away and that’s when it all went tits up—uh sorry—went wrong.” I excused his vulgar expression and he continued his narrative. “Bloody thing went wrong just outside Barcelona, called the breakdown people and they somehow managed to get it going again, but we went back to the villa instead of our day out. The next day it refused to start at all.”

I’d had a feeling he was going to say something like that. “We got on the phone to Jaguar here in England and they arranged for a Spanish dealer to have it in and sort it. Course we lost our means of transport for a couple of days or so but we were assured there’d be no cost to us for the repair and they sent a taxi for us to collect the car. Went better than ever—for a day—then went phut again. We spoke to Jaguar UK and they said they’d arrange to have it taken back to them on the back of a truck.”

“So how were you going to get home?” I asked knowing they hadn’t walked it.

“We looked at flights and so on but it was going to be so expensive so we decided to hire a car and drive back.”

“Didn’t the garage agree to pay for it?”

“Eventually they did, but that wasn’t cheap either—the rental of the car. We had a couple of days in Spain and spent half of that altering our ferry crossing, had to go from Brittany rather than Calais.”

“Bit of a drive the other end then and in a left hand drive car.”

“Yes, but at least it didn’t break down.” We both smiled.

“So when d’you get your car back?”

“Good question,” he replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Oh?”

“You’d think it wouldn’t take a truck very long to carry one or more cars over from Spain to England, wouldn’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well they keep moving the date of when it will arrive.”

“Why?”

“They didn’t say—until this morning, my wife, she’s far more patient than I am, but when she gets the bit between her teeth...”

“So what was the reason?”

“She had to really badger them...”

“And the reason was?”

“They appear to have lost it.”

“Lost it?” This sounded absurd.

“As in they don’t have a clue where it is.”

“You don’t have a tracker on it, then?”

“Uh, alas no. But who would have thought it necessary, normally it only travels around locally and occasionally up to my mother in law in Norfolk.”

Having had a car taken I was rather glad ours had trackers fitted and I told him that. “It also saved my life when a deer shot out in front of me and I went through a hedge and rolled it down a hill. No one could see me from the road so the tracker was what told them where I was.”

“Was that in your Jag?”

“No, I had a Porsche for a while—well until that accident.”

“Oh, how did you manage with the children in a sports car?”

“It was the SUV thing, a Cayenne.”

“Hot stuff eh?”

“Quite—so what are they going to do about your car?”

He shrugged, “I have no idea, I presume someone must know where it is, so I’ll keep on to them to find it. If they can’t, I suppose it means they’ll owe us a sizeable chunk of money.”

“Looks like it; but how on earth do you lose a car which is being transported, there must be a paper trail or electronic one, somewhere.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I mean, they would have to liaise with someone in Spain to bring it up and that could mean they waited until they had several other cars for the UK, but to take weeks without keeping you informed is very poor PR.”

“It’s over a month now.”

“Good grief, they could have pulled it up by donkey by now.”

“Exactly—excuse me,” he said as his phone peeped, “it’s my wife, I’d better go.”

Collecting a cup of tea I returned to my seat and mused upon the story I’d just been told. If you wrote that sort of thing as fiction it would have to be for a comedy show like ‘Last of the Summer Wine,’ with Foggie’s car being the one to go missing and Clegg and Compo setting out to track it down. I could just see Bill Owen in his woolly hat and wellies traipsing the streets of ‘Uddersfield seeking the missing car, trying to keep his mind on the matter in hand rather than Nora batty and her wrinkled lisle stockings.

When my mind returned to the present instead of rushing about in Yorkshire, I did wonder why he’d come and told me as I hardly knew him and certainly wouldn’t have remembered his name without his prompt. I could only think he felt some sort of camaraderie because we both own Jaguars, or I still do, his ownership may be in slight jeopardy from what he said.

Some people don’t like trackers in cars, I can only speak as I’ve found and in my case they saved my life and also helped me to locate Simon when he was kidnapped, so I’m very much in favour. If you want to do things which are antisocial or illegal, or are just to mean to pay the cost of one, you may feel differently. Oh well let’s see what torment Diane has for me this afternoon.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3219 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“You look happy,” said Diane in her own inimitable depression inducing way.

“I’ve just been talking to some chap whose Jaguar got misplaced en route from Spain or somewhere.”

“What today?”

“No,” you idiot, I snapped rolling my eyes, “five weeks ago or something.”

“Sure he didn’t park it at Heathrow and forgot which car park it was in?”

“No, it broke down and they couldn’t fix it so they were bringing it back to Blighty to see what our engineers could do.”

“Make it worse no doubt.”

“Yeah—probably—make some tea will you?”

“That’s all I am, a jumped up tea lady...” she muttered.

“I’ll get them to regrade you... it’ll probably mean a reduction in salary.”

“I thought they earned more than me.”

“Damn, you worked it out—or have you been talking to one.”

“No it was obvious something wasn’t right when they paid me in Mars bar wrappers.”

“Took you long enough to work it out...”

“I only did because the bank stopped accepting them.”

“Which bank was that then?”

“High Street, who else?”

“Okay, I’ll speak to salaries and wages and get them to upgrade you to sea shells.”

“Will the bank accept those then?”

“They will until my kids have stopped collecting them.”

“Your children determine the bank’s trading policy?”

“Only when they’re really interested in something—be thankful the Peppa Pig phase has passed.”

“Oh don’t, had enough trouble with my own over that. Oh someone left this for you.” She put my mug of tea on my desk and handed me a small bottle with an insect inside.

“Gosh, a house or hearth cricket.”

“How can you tell that, you only glanced at it?”

“Okay it could be a Southern Field cricket. They sell them in pet shops as food for reptiles.”

“What they sell live things to be eaten by pets?”

“People who keep snakes and lizards buy them all the time.”

“I find that gross.”

“So do I, but their precious reptiles won’t eat dead prey.”

“That isn’t what happened to that one is it—you know, met a boa constrictor on the way home...”

“Yeah sure and died of fright—Diane, dearest, boa constrictors would be out hunting rats or mice or even your pet dog, not insects.”

“Coulda been a baby one...”

I sipped at the tea, “Bliss.”

“So did it meet an anaconda?”

“What the cricket?”

“What else?” she sighed.

“Anacondas live in the Amazon and spend much of their time in water, like giant grass snakes.”

“We get grass snakes in our compost heap.”

“Sure they’re not anacondas then?” I asked teasingly.

“No, they all live in Gosport.”

“Gosport by the Limpopo?”

“You know I think it is.” She pretended to consider it. “The bug, how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Jeez, how did you know what it was?”

“Easy.”

“To those who know—so how did you know?”

“The guy who brought it, tall chap with a beard?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s Nigel Burke, he told me he had these things chirping all over his house was going to get the pest controller in. I asked him to save me one if he found any. If they live in a house, they have to be house crickets.”

“Bugger, I thought for a moment you were being a professor—you know, actually knowing something, sort of out of the ordinary.”

“Gee thanks, tea lady basic grade wasn’t it?”

She huffed and left my office and I had another look at my new specimen. Five minutes later she was back. “They eat them in Thailand—deep fried.”

“I prefer chips myself, but here if you’re frying tonight.” I proffered the bottle.

“Don’t be so gross—I mean how can they eat insects?”

“I presume they open their mouths and pop them in.”

“No, I mean, how can they eat them?”

“I just told you, perhaps you mean why do they eat them?”

“Do I? Yes why?”

“Insects are very nutritious, full of protein and carbohydrates and the snakes look all right on them.”

“Ugh, sometimes I wonder about you.”

“Only sometimes—it’s not a full moon is it?”

“Why?”

“Well you never knowoooooh,” I replied sounding like a rather unedifying dog rather than a wolf. Just then the bell rang in reception. “If that’s someone to see me—tell them I’m just changing...”

“Ha bloody ha—it’s probably your bearded friend realised you were going to eat his insect and come to collect it.”

“It’s dead and has been for some time—look,” I shook the bottle.

“Nah, it’s just restin’, pinin’ for the fjords.” She said as she left leaving me helpless with laughter. Monty Python has a lot to answer for.

A minute later she knocked on my door and cracked it open, “Professor, it’s the police”

“Don’t tell me, your hovercraft is full of eels.”

“In there,” she said and a tall young uniformed police officer entered.

“Are you Professor Watts?”

“Yes,” I replied all mirth having long since receded, “how can I help you, constable?”

“You were seen talking to some chap about his lost car...a Ben Smithers?”

“He came over to me to unload his tale of woe, I simply sat there and listened.”

“Why did he come to see you?”

“He said because he knew I drove a Jaguar, which is the car he lost, or said it was.”

“Oh he has one alright, but it isn’t lost.”

“So why did he make up that story about it going missing in Spain?”

“I don’t know, can you recall exactly what he said?” I nodded and repeated the tale as I recalled it. “And that was all?”

“Yes, what’s this all about?”

“’Fraid I can’t tell you, professor. Oh is that a house cricket?” he picked up the bottle.

“Yes, why?”

“Used to keep snakes, when I was a kid.” He closed his notepad. “Thanks for your help, if you think of anything else, please call me on this number.” He pulled out a business card and placed it in my hand. “They eat them in Thailand--the crickets.”

“Yes I know, deep fried.”

“Prefer chips myself,” he said and left.

“What was all that about?” gasped Diane as she dashed into my office the moment he’d left.

“The bloke in the restaurant.”

“There’s more than that—surely?”

“There probably is but he didn’t tell me.”

“What about that copper you know?”

“What Andy Bond?”

“Yeah, him.”

“What about him?”

“Ring him and see if he knows what’s up with Jaguar man.”

“I can’t do that?”

“Why not?”

“It’s not the done thing to poke about in other people’s business.”

“Don’t be such a snob, call him,” she handed me the phone and I succumbed.

I spoke with Andy for several minutes before raising the matter of Ben Smithers. I wished I hadn’t it was very sad and caused a pall over the rest of the afternoon.

“Well?” asked Diane.

“He went home and murdered his wife then killed himself.”

“What?”

“They think he had some sort of breakdown and was fantasising about all sorts of things—including losing his car.”

“Oh Jeez.”

“Quite—more tea I think,” I said holding up my empty cup.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_cricket

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3220 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

I didn’t see daddy that evening until it was too late to talk—he looked shattered. He had left before I finished getting the girls ready for school, so we didn’t speak again. After dropping the offspring at their secure unit and nodding my greeting to the chief warder Maria, I drove into work. Things were buzzing, people were chatting in corridors and when I walked past they went quiet. It was obviously something to do with the previous day’s tragedy and I had been one of the last people to see him according to the police.

“Seen the headline in the Echo?” asked Diane as I flitted through her office into mine.

“No, what lurid lie have they today?”

“See for yourself.” She rose from her desk and handed the much despised local rag to me as i stepped back a few paces to take it.

‘University don strangles wife and kills himself.’ was the banner headline.

“At least it doesn’t mention us precisely.” I said before reading any further.

“It does in the text, several times. It even says you were the last person to see him before he did the deed--‘What did you say to him that made him turn killer?’”

“That explains why the stony looks and silent treatment in the corridor.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Not a lot, just hoped he got his car back.”

“Can’t see why that should make me the suspect in a double killing.”

“Unless you went round there and did it after you left here.”

“Sure in between leaving here at three o’clock and collecting three little maids from school.”

“Perhaps they helped you.”

“They do in all the murders I perpetrate, don’t yours?”

“Go and read it I’ll put the kettle on.”

“It won’t fit,” I said to the space she’d been in a moment before. Some sort of grunt came back as a reply, probably one of scorn. Sitting at my desk I quickly scanned the pages relating to the story—it was all surmise of the most scandalous variety and before finishing the report I was reaching for the phone and left a message for Jason to call me regarding a libel case—he likes those as he gets a share of the damages—not that either of us need money, but the principle demands some sort of punishment that requires the offender to think twice in the future before repeating the calumny. Usually, that involves large lumps of money.

Tea arrived and I drank it while waiting for Jason to call back. It was difficult to settle waiting for that sort of call and when the phone eventually did ring, it was Tom not Jason. I managed to put off going to see him for an hour. Jason called half way to that appointment time.

I explained what had happened and quoted the paper. I could almost feel him counting money at the other end of the phone. He was checking the paper’s website and the same story was there. Now he was probably rubbing his hands with glee—two instances of libel. Did I want to bankrupt the author as well as the paper? Not really even if it was that wretch, Jackson.

I had to ring off because of my meeting with Tom but as I went Jason suggested I tell Tom to get the university counsel to see what he thought about also suing the paper. Jason thought it sounded libellous as well.

I virtually ran across campus to Tom’s office where Pippa was on the phone and waved as I went by. I hadn’t seen for ages and thought we must get together some time and chew the fat as her two boys were probably in high school now.

“Ah, Cathy, come in and join the party,” welcomed my adopted father, all sign of his Lallan’s accent gone. It was an emergency meeting of the university council, of which I’m a member.

We discussed the article in the paper and I said because I’d been named I was in consultation with my own counsel, there was a murmur of understanding if not approval. My position on the university council is always subject to some scepticism as there are a few members who think I’m only there because Tom is my adopted father which tends to include, that I’m only a professor for the same reason. That I pretty well saved the university from the crook who was VC before and took charge of the council doesn’t seem to feature in their thoughts—not that I think much of anything flows in the void between their ears and if I had more time I might think how we could rid ourselves of the dead wood.

The meeting was long and tedious, the empty vessel brigade making the most noise but having the least constructive comments to offer—a not unusual occurrence. I actually said very little other than passing on the message from Jason, that the university had been slighted and would have every reason to sue. Several of the morons on the council wondered if that was absolutely necessary. I told them that if the paper printed a retraction within forty eight hours that met our demands, perhaps we wouldn’t sue. I then got lumbered with working with Tom to draft a letter for our solicitor to serve on the paper backed up with a threat of litigation.

Towards the end of the meeting I asked why we hadn’t considered our responsibility as an employer. That was met by silence which just one person asking what I meant. I couldn’t believe it, these are supposed to be intelligent people—perhaps I met them on a bad day, when their only functioning brain cell was in for a service.

They all seemed aware of our obligation towards students, who were twice referred to as paying customers, which annoyed me—no wonder education is in such disarray. However, an equal responsibility towards staff seemed to pass them by, with the exception of Tom, who nodded and I knew then I had another job from the meeting. I sent Diane a text asking her to look through our terms and conditions of employment on stress and mental health issues. She’d enjoy doing that, certainly more than I would. I’m essentially a field scientist not a manager, then a teacher not a manager, but here I am managing not only my own department but helping Tom, who is a good administrator and manager, run things because the others don’t want to know and those who show some interest in helping are always the most useless and either fail to come to any meetings for the project or fail to deliver the bits they volunteered. Sometimes a committee of one or two is most efficient, if not exactly democratic.

Lunch was sandwich and cuppa during our tedium which Pippa arranged, so my tea and tuna sandwiches were spot on, it pays to know people’s secretaries, they are the ones who actually do things. It’s a bit like the army, the officers make the strategy the NCOs run it, the latter call the former, Ruperts, I’ll let you work out why.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3221 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

The weeks seemed to be passing like crazy possibly because I was very busy or getting old, as my children reminded me. I’d stolen an hour for Julie to tidy up my hair at the salon and then wished I hadn’t bothered as she was full of moans and groans about how Brexit was costing them extra for all their hair products, which were imported and with the weak pound....and so on. I tried to remind her I’d voted to remain, it was she who’d voted out. She’d forgotten that, then began a tirade about how Boris had misled her. Trying to lighten the discussion—which was rather one sided—I asked when she’d met Boris Johnson, our accident prone Foreign Secretary, who brings new meaning to diplomacy. Just as well, because he’s never heard the word.

“I didn’t meet him, I just watched him on telly and his bus.” By this I think she meant the one promising £350M per week for the NHS.

“If that’s what Eton and Oxford do to you, I’m glad I went to Sussex,” I chipped in.

Back at the university Diane noticed my hair cut and approved sort of, “Got it done in the meeting did you?”

“What meeting? There’s nothing in my diary.”

“Professor Agnew’s secretary called for you to attend at his office immediately.”

“Immediately after a cuppa, you mean?”

She glowered and went off towards the kettle muttering something under breath which could have been a complaint or some sort of spell to make me disappear.

Of course the tea was too hot to drink quickly and I almost took it with me to Tom’s office. As I entered, Pippa told me to go straight through and followed with a tray of drinks, so I had a second cup—things were looking up, but not for long.

“The Echo, that carrier of invective and misinformation, is counter-suing us regarding the Smithers’ case.”

I nodded my acknowledgement of the university solicitor and the deputy VC. “How come, Jason said we had a good case and had they printed a retraction instead of reissuing their lies, we’d have backed off.”

“Seems they have a new counsel who fancies himself.”

“They claim to have a witness who says he saw Smithers talking with his wife before the murder and he says Smithers was saying the university was making him ill,” offered the solicitor.

“Isn’t that hearsay?”

“Yes but it does us no good and any attempt by us to challenge it makes us look like bullies.”

“I gave Jason the instruction to seek and destroy when we spoke last night.”

“They’ve alluded to the fact that the wealthiest family in England are trying to stop the truth coming out.”

“That’s nonsense,” I said angrily.

“I know that, but many readers won’t.”

“The inquest hasn’t happened yet so how are we stopping the truth being shown?”

“It’s spreading rumours trying to influence public opinion, claiming that High Street Bank has mounted a campaign against them.”

“That is pure nonsense and what has it to do with the university?” I was having difficulty sitting still, I so wanted to punch somebody’s lights out, a certain John Jackson.

“They claim the bank practically owns the university.”

“But that’s an outright lie, the university is a charitable trust underwritten by charter or whatever, it owns itself.”

“Professor Watts, I’m well aware of that fact and have sent a letter to the paper demanding a retraction.”

“How likely are you to get one?”

“Pretty sure, but it’ll be amidst the adverts on page nine.”

“Simon has called in the Financial Services Authority or whatever they’re called to show that the bank has done nothing untoward or against the newspaper, though he also said they would sue if the lies continued.”

“Seems like a rather reckless thing to tangle with the local university and the country’s third largest bank,” said the deputy VC, “The one is much loved by the local people and the other is extremely wealthy and has greater resources than a muck spreading gutter dweller.”

“Are we much loved?” I asked unsure that we were.

“Oh yes, when we beat Oxford in the brownie points contest back in the summer, the locals loved it.”

“The only thing they beat us on is University Challenge,” declared my adopted father and I don’t think anyone contradicted his statement. I wasn’t aware we’d ever been on it, but then I don’t watch it having tired of Paxman’s sardonic and patronising comments towards the students. Just because he and Stephen Fry know every single fact about everything between them, doesn’t give him the right to make fun of hapless teenagers on television who have probably never been in front of a camera before and the temporary amnesia it can cause.

“The inquest is next week,” said the solicitor drawing us back to the matter at hand. “You’ll almost certainly be required to attend, Professor Watts.” It wasn’t exactly a surprise but I suspect it might coincide with half term at the convent. Perhaps if I bribe Sister Maria, she’ll pretend she’s forgotten and it won’t happen. Nah, she needs the break, especially from my kids who would drive a saint to drink after a few weeks.

The meeting eventually broke up mid afternoon and I went straight off to collect the denizens of the convent having told Diane where I was going, “That’s more than you did this morning,” she huffed at me. I left asking her to find out the details of the inquest from the coroner’s office.

Once at home, David showed me a recorded delivery letter summoning me to give evidence at the inquest. As an inquest is a coroner’s court, it’s difficult to refuse and I prepared to keep free the three days it suggested. Diane was going to love me.

“Can we come and watch?” asked Trish.

“Not while I’m giving evidence,” I said firmly, the last thing I needed was a twelve year old picking up the coroner on points of law.

“Meanie,” she called back, “I might be a lawyer,” she added. I was tempted to shout at her, ‘Is this before you develop time travel and nuclear fusion or after you find a cure for cancer and the common cold?’ I suspected she’d watched one too many court room dramas and thinks it’s all glamour and cleverness, whereas, it’s mostly hard work and cleverness and an ability to deal in minutiae, the latter being what often trips up a witness or criminal.

“I’m going to be the new Judge Rinder,” said St Claire’s answer to Isaac Newton as she breezed through the kitchen.

“Only because you like telling people what to do.”

“So?” was her rejoinder. I pointed out the foreman on a building site did the same but was paid less.

“Huh,” she huffed ignoring my whole argument in one exhalation, perhaps she will be a lawyer, she’s bright enough and at times detached from the humanity of others in order to prove her point—like some lawyers, who only empathise when they’re trying to sway a jury.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked David as I sipped the tea I’d just made.

“Baked salmon.”

“Oh wonderful, I love salmon.”

“Yes, boss, I had noticed.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3222 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“Professor Watts, could you please relate your relationship with Ben Smithers?” asked the coroner, a blonde woman in her late forties.

“Other than working at the same university and owning a Jaguar, I wasn’t aware we had one.”

“So why did he come and speak to you that day?”

“I have no idea and even less of one about why he should kill his wife.”

“So what did he say to you?”

I reported the conversation we’d had as I remembered it about his car being stranded in Spain.

“He said nothing to you about struggling with his job or his relationship with his wife?”

“Nothing at all.”

“And he gave no indication of what he did later?”

“Not at all, he was upset by Jaguar and their agents but he said nothing about his wife or his job, if he had I’d have been forced to act.”

“He was in one of your departments?”

“My role is effectively as overall chair of science, he was in electronics which had been lumped with us but I had no direct contact with him as we had two levels of management between us. If he had issues he should have seen his head of department or the professor of electronic engineering and computing, who reports to me.”

“So you barely knew this man?”

“Only that he worked at the university and to say hello to if we passed in a corridor. I knew next to nothing about him or his situation which was why I found it strange he should speak to me that day and about something so bizarre.”

“So you didn’t believe him?”

“I didn’t say that but I didn’t know if he was telling me what actually happened or what appeared to have happened in some sort of imaginary world.”

“Were you aware he had a history of mental illness?”

“No, but we try to help staff if they have a problem. I like to think we’re a caring employer.”

“Yet he was reported as saying he had difficulties at work and with his bank, both of which appear to involve you?”

“If that’s what he said, it might.”

“Doesn’t your husband work as a director of the bank, as do you and hasn’t High street bank funded a number of projects at the university?”

“My husband is head of the retail division of the bank and I’m director of environmental affairs there.”

“Did he have problems with the bank?”

“I don’t know, it isn’t my area of concern and besides it’s confidential between him and his account manager.”

“So he didn’t have problems with the bank?”

“I don’t know, as I said, that would be confidential between him and his account manager.”

“Would that be his local bank manager?”

“Probably, it isn’t my area...”

“Of concern, yes you said that before, but obviously two people are dead and one of them worked for you and used your bank, so you could see some sort of connection between them?”

“You obviously can though it could be purely coincidental.”

“Professor Watts, I find that disingenuous from such an obviously intelligent woman.”

“In science, your honour, we look at facts not coincidences. That two things happen at the same time doesn’t mean they are related.”

“I’m well aware of that, Professor, but surely it increases the probability.”

“Not necessarily, if they’re unrelated it has no affect on probability.”

“I think we may agree to differ there, professor.”

“Superstition relies on the misunderstanding of unrelated events and people seeing connections that aren’t there.”

“You have a problem with superstition, Professor?”

“Only when people deride science in favour of it.”

“Thank you, professor.” I was dismissed and left the court. It was nearly the end of the day and I’d only had a sandwich since leaving home that morning. I’d got a taxi to the coroner’s court to save the difficulties of parking in one of the most congested cities in England. It was half term and Jacquie agreed to supervise the girls. She’s finished her course now but as yet hasn’t found a job, so I pay her something for her help—poor girl needs some sort of pocket money. Julie offered her some time helping at the salon, she’s very good at doing nails and I did offer for her to do a course so she’d have a qualification she could use until she could get a better job. She declined. I think I understood why as did Julie who said nothing.

I asked at the court if they needed me any further and when they said they didn’t, I called Diane and said I’d be in tomorrow. She told me there was a mound of paperwork awaiting me. I asked her what we paid her for. “Arranging it in pretty piles for the likes of her unappreciative, tyrannical boss.”

“I might be a tyrant but I do appreciate you, slave, now get back to work.” I heard a cackle as I switched off the phone, she is very strange at times which probably explains why we work so well together. If we were in partnership, I suppose we could call it ‘Strange and Stranger.’ I’ll leave it to you to decide who was which.

Simon came home for dinner with a face like a horse’s backside. “What’s your problem?” I asked as he snapped at the cat and ignored the dog. Mind you, Bramble had just tried to climb up his leg using his built in crampons.

“That bloody bloke of yours who killed his wife.”

“Why?”

“The coroner has summonsed the local branch manager to attend to discuss his financial status.”

“And?”

“Well he was close to having a repossession done on his mortgage having ignored three letters of warning for non payment.”

“Is his mortgage with you then?”

“Was it you mean?”

“Whatever.”

“Yes it was, he owes us over a hundred thousand in mortgage and secondary loans.”

“Did his wife work?”

“She did before he killed her, not so well afterwards,” came back the schoolboy answer. I gave him a scornful scowl, assuming scornful looks can also be a scowl. “Oh come on, Cathy, we’re losing clients hand over fist thanks to this bloody case. It’s just as well he killed himself because it saved me the bother of doing it for him.”

“Good job you weren’t at the coroner’s today with that sort of attitude.”

“Don’t worry, I know when to remain quiet or monosyllabic and not smile, even though I’m told it lights up my face.”

I was tempted to say something unhelpful about Specsavers and the eyesight of whoever it was told him that, when he beamed me a smile and his face did seem to light up—nah—it’s suggestive thinking, he put the idea in my head.

“How did you get on?” he asked changing the subject.

“I suppose the coroner was only doing her job...”

“Gave you a rough time then?”

“That would be one way of describing it.”

“Oh?”

“She appears not to believe in coincidence.”

“Ah, one of those?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t seem to be gay.”

“Not one of them, one of those.”

I thought that meant the same, obviously not.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3223 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

As I entered the office Diane smiled and nodded towards someone reading a newspaper in the outside office. “Who’s that?” I whispered.

“A detective inspector.”

“What does he want?”

“I thought they asked the questions, but he wants to see you.”

“Give me a moment and send him in, any chance of some teas or coffees?”

“I’m just a slave here you know.”

“Nah, but if we stopped paying you, you would be.”

“How much cyanide per coffee, boss?”

I hurried into my office and covered up any paperwork, not that there was much to see, but it’s still confidential to the department. I’d barely seated myself behind my desk when Diane knocked the door and announced, “Detective Inspector Old to see you, professor.”

I glanced up, he had a beard. “Toby? Is that you under the fuzz?”

“I am the fuzz, Cathy, if you remember.”

“Tea’s on its way,” said Diane closing the door behind her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Working, unfortunately.”

“Well so am I.”

The fur cracked open and his white teeth showed in a broad smile. Diane appeared with the cups of tea and some Lotus biscuits—damn, she’d found my secret stock. We sat on the settee and sipped teas; he let me relax before he asked the first question. “You knew this Ben Smithers, chap?”

“I’ve already answered that question half a dozen times and why are you asking it, I thought they said it was suicide after he killed his wife?”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“I beg your pardon. Are you telling me he didn’t kill himself?”

“That’s the latest theory.”

“Oh, so what happened?”

“I thought you might like to play Watson to my Holmes again.”

“But the papers think the bank and the university hounded him to death.”

“Wouldn’t you like to prove them wrong?”

“It would be more interesting than signing letters.”

“Get a stamp—with your signature on it then your secretary could do them.”

“The computer can print them with my signature for matter of fact things.”

“There’s your answer then...” he smiled again looking like something between a badger’s backside and a bear, the grizzled hair making the association in my mind.

“You’ve gone a bit greyer.”

“It’s several years, Cathy, since old Edwards was killed.”

“I suppose it must be.” I glanced up at him again. “So what do you want me to do, and do we need Trish?”

He snorted, “Hawkeye Watts?”

“Well she did spot the moved stone at the pond.”

“So she did.”

“She has phenomenal powers of observation.”

“Should we get her then?”

“You haven’t told me what we’re doing.”

“Thought we could take a wander to the Smithers’ house, let you see the crime scene.”

“That’s not going to get you into trouble is it?”

“Nice of you to care, but no.” Twenty minutes later we parked his Saab outside a house in Cosham. A Ford C-max stood on the driveway.

“Whose car is that?” I enquired half expecting to see a Jag.

“Smithers, why?”

“He told me he had a Jaguar.”

“Not according to the information we have.”

“The lying toad, he told me he had...”

“Cathy, it doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t like being lied to.”

“He’s dead, someone killed him—he’s hardly going to apologise, is he?”

I shook myself, why did it feel important, his total cock and bull story, wasn’t it just a manifestation of the man’s mental state? “Yeah, okay.” A ripple of cold shivered up and down my spine and I trembled just a little—what was all that about?

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just feel a bit uncomfortable looking around someone else’s house while they’re out.”

“If they weren’t out, they’d be a bit smelly by now.” His eyes twinkled but I didn’t laugh at his joke. I suppose he’s more used to this sort of thing than I am.

We entered through the front door to which he had a key and he bid me look around to see if anything felt out of place. It was initially creepy but I soon entered the spirit of the task. It was a normal semi-detached, three bedroom house, circa 1980s. The kitchen had been refurbished a few years ago judging by the colour scheme and I opened and glanced inside the cupboards. Nothing felt unusual.

The lounge diner was tidy with a modest sized television, complete with Sky box and a shelf full of DVDs. The furniture was reasonable quality and looked about ten years old, a blue leather three seater sofa and two armchairs. The wall unit was a mixture of books and photographs, including one of his wife and he together. She was quite a pretty woman and now she was dead—why?

Upstairs the small bedroom was his study or office. He had a desk with two computers on it and there was a third on a table behind. The shelves on the wall were full of text books and computer journals. “Have they checked these?” I pointed vaguely at the computers.

“Don’t think so, the only reason we’re here is because the pathologist found some bruising on the back of his neck.”

“Didn’t he hang himself?”

“It predated the bruising from the noose, he was possibly unconscious when he was hanged.”

“So did he kill his wife?”

“I don’t know and from our enquiries it would have been completely out of character.”

“So why did people swallow it before then?”

“Because it was a well staged crime and he had a history of mental problems.”

“But he wasn’t a paranoid schizophrenic or anything like that?”

“We’re still awaiting all his medical records, but not as far as we know. He was a depressive and they’re more likely to hurt themselves.”

“Quite—so where did he do it?”

“In the garage. Want to see the other bedrooms first?” We did a quick tour but they were just ordinary bedrooms with beds and wardrobes and photographs of the couple. I felt closer to him than I’d ever been, just what had happened here?

“Would you like my daughter to have a look at the computers?”

“Nah, our people will go through them with tooth combs.”

“She’ll find things they won’t.”

“A twelve year old?”

“No my daughter the computer expert—she does the bank’s security and occasionally helps MI5.”

The badger’s arse cracked open again, “Is there anything you lot aren’t into?” he smiled.

“She is very good.”

“Hold on.” He wandered off and i heard him speaking on his mobile phone. “She works for MI5—great, yeah, I’ll keep the cost to a minimum.” He came back smiling again. “We have permission for your wonder daughter to open these machines.”

Now it was my turn to wander off and use my phone, all I needed was her to refuse because she was too busy. “Hello, darling, look I need your help with a computer or two.”

“Can’t Trish see to it for you?”

“Uh not really, it’s a police matter.”

“So get them to do it for you.”

“Sammi, this is a murder case and one of the victims was a computer buff, worked at the university.”

“Okay, be there tonight—if it’s something the cops could have sorted...”

“I’m willing to bet it’s not.”

“Right, see you tonight then, if there’s a laptop take it home, I’ll make a start tonight.”

I cleared it with Toby and took it down to his car. Next we were going to visit the garage. I wasn’t looking forward to that one bit.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3224 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

The garage door was an up and over variety and Toby unlocked it and opened it. It was a smooth process a bit better than the one back in my house in Bristol—I must go and check on that very soon—sometimes I think I’m too busy to work, which is what people say in retirement. The open door revealed a tidy area with shelves on the walls, assorted tools and a few paint tins and in the corner on an old wooden table were a pile of computer magazines tied up with string. Ben Smithers may have been potty, but he was very tidy.

The dust was missing from one part of the main beam which ran widthways across the brick built garage supporting the pitched roof. It seemed a slight surprise that he hadn’t converted the space into a loft storage given that he seemed otherwise very conscious of using space in the house.

Lastly, we went into the garden and checked out the shed, a wooden sort with a single window. It was full of garden tools and a mower with more paint tins and one of wood preserver. Toby locked it again and we walked back into the house. On impulse I asked, “Could we take all the computers?”

“If you want, your daughter going to have time to run through them?”

“Probably, she’ll be looking for hidden files and things like that,” I said not having a clue what I was talking about. With that we went upstairs and brought down a tower PC and a desktop type on which the monitor, one of those LED things, was standing atop. We shoved both in the boot of his car with the laptop and he suggested we went to a pub to talk about what we’d explored.

I talked him into taking me and the computers home and then helping me carry them up to Sammi’s room. Even though she didn’t spend much time there anymore, it still resembled a computer workshop. “This all her stuff? Your daughter’s I mean?”

“Sammi? Yes, I never touch anything in here.”

“I can see why, what’s this?” he asked picking up some electronic device and examined it in his hand.

“Here,” I said taking it and clipped it open, “her old travel alarm.”

“Oh,” he blushed, “can see that now.” He put it down still blushing, his face bright pink behind all the hair.

I’d sent David a text asking him to do us a snack meal and he did the most amazing tuna jacket spuds I’d eaten in a long time. Toby wasted no time in tucking into his once we were seated in my study with trays on our laps.

“So what did you think?” he asked as I savoured the delights of my lunch.

“That was simply delicious,” I replied putting my knife and fork down.

“About the house,” Toby rolled his eyes.

“Oh that, yeah.” I almost felt like licking the plate, instead I sipped the mug of tea.

“Yeah what?” urged my visitor.

“Yeah, I thought about it.”

He shook his head and was about to say, “Women,” in a tone of exasperation about as close to a flounce as men ever get when I interrupted him.

“Yeah, he was murdered.”

“Just like that?”

“Who d’you think you are, Tommy Cooper?”

“What?”

I was about to repeat my statement when I think he meant something other than what he said.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Where was the chair or stool he used to get the rope over the bean and then to stand on when he did the deed?”

“Uh, there was a wooden box. They took it away for forensics.”

“How big a box?”

“About the size of your tuffet,” he pointed at my footstool come sewing box with its top and sides upholstered to match the rest of the suite. Given that people have hanged themselves from radiators with a shoelace, I could hardly argue the point.

I also couldn’t say that there was something about the shudder I felt on entering the property, almost as if Smithers was about and wanted to tell me something. That he and his wife had been murdered seemed the most likely.
“There’s something not quite right there—the house.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Don’t know if I can, but there is something.”

“Well I’ve seen your hunches in action before, so let me know if anything comes to mind. Want me to run you back to the university?”

“Please. My car’s there.”

“Not using the Jag?”

“Can’t afford to run it,” I joked.

“Tell me about it—oh very funny,” he glared at me as we got into the Saab.

“So why aren’t you using it?”

“Too many children to take to school.”

“Ah, haven’t seen mine for ages.”

I quickly changed the subject. “Could we go back via the Smithers’ place again?”

“Certainly—got an idea?”

“No, just felt a need to visit there again.”

“Okay.” We drove back out to the empty house and as we pulled up outside so we saw movement from the back, Toby gave chase but didn’t catch the fellow. A back window had been broken. He radioed for assistance and within moments police cars arrived from every direction. He gave them a quick description and they all drove off looking to apprehend our burglar.

“Just an opportunist break in?” I asked.

“Could have been, he wasn’t very old but bugger me, he couldn’t half run. About eighteen I expect, but we’ll get him.”

A few minutes later a dog handler arrived and after cocking his leg on Toby’s rear tyre, sniffed around and headed off with purpose his handler holding on tightly to the long leash.

“Get someone in to board this up,” Toby instructed a police sommunity support officer.

“Yes sir,” answered the rather plump, spectacled young woman.

“You knew something was going to happen, didn’t you?” he asked me when we were inside the house.

“Not really,” I lied and blushed simultaneously demonstrating that I still had the power to multitask.

“Come off it, Cathy. I know damn well you did.”

I shrugged, “I just felt we were being watched the whole time we were here and it wasn’t just nosy neighbours.”

“Right, so they know we have the computers?”

“Possibly, not sure if they could see that or not. They know we took something, your boot lid was up for a few minutes but from up the road...” I nodded where I’d seen a car with driver and passenger inside.”...they wouldn’t be able to see what we were collecting. The hedge hides the front door from that angle.

“So they won’t know we took them to your place?”

“I have no idea what they do or do not know, but I do know if there’s anything incriminating on there, Sammi will find it.”

“She’s that good, eh?”

“She is brilliant—MI5 go to her when they can’t do something on a computer.”

“Like the Apple phone thing a while back.”

“She unencrypted one of those in a couple of hours.”

“She did?”

“It only took that long because she was out to dinner while she did it.”

“But the FBI...”

“I told you, she’s good not an amateur.”

He roared with laughter, “Don’t tell the FBI, they’ll be mightily pissed.”

I have no intention of telling anyone.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3225 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“Where’s this computer you want me to look at?” Sammi wasn’t usually this brusque.

“Up in your room, good journey down?”

“No some bloke made a nuisance of himself.”

“Oh, nuisance—in what way?”

“He seemed to think my breast needed rubbing.”

“He what?”

“I told him to piss off.”

“Did he?”

“He did after I gave him a very public slap on the face. It hurt my hand so what he felt I wouldn’t like to say.”

“Did you tell the guard?”

“Yes and he took a statement, the bloke got off the train at Clapham in rather a hurry.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, you get used to it, living in London, people rub against you all the time and some of that is deliberate.”

“I expect it is, unfortunately it seems to be the lot of women to have to deal with it.”

“Yeah, well if it’s blatant, so is my response.”

“Just be careful, men are a bit stronger than we are.”

“I know—though that’s never stopped you, has it?”
I declined to answer that question and accompanied her up to her room. “Three? I thought you said a laptop.”

“I did but I brought these home as well, just in case.”

“What am I looking for?”

“I don’t know. They think he and his wife were murdered possibly for something on the computers, he was an IT lecturer.”

“Which one?”

“I have no idea what he taught except computers...”

“No, Mummy, which lecturer was he?”

“Oh, Ben Smithers.”

“Oh dear, nice guy, out of his depth but otherwise okay.”

“You knew him?”

“Well yeah, I did my master’s at Pompey, didn’t I?” And a doctorate at Imperial.

“Of course you did,” goodness, that was when I first met her or him, as he was briefly—no sign of any boy there now, just a rather beautiful young woman. How time flies.

“Can someone bring my dinner up here, this could take all night?”

“Can’t you stop for dinner?”

“Not with three computers to check, no. What is it?”

“Chicken chasseur, I think.”

“Okay, right off you go and leave me in peace. Oh if Einstein is about, send her up.”

“I think she’s out at soccer practice, Daddy was picking her up.”

“That still seems odd, Trish playing football.”

“She’s actually quite good at it, not as good as Danielle...”

“Yeah well no one is as good as her, are they?”

“I doubt it, cuppa?”

“That would be ace, thanks, Mummy.” She pecked me on the cheek and before I was out of the room, she was plugging in the first computer and attaching a lead to her own laptop. I left her to it but took her up a mug of tea ten minutes later. I don’t think she even noticed me. Danni and Trish came in a few minutes later and when I told Trish that Sammi was home, she virtually flew up the stairs. Danni simply shrugged and announced she’d see her later.

Dinner was minus our two boffins, they had theirs upstairs while they analysed everything on the three computers. I knew that there was software which could unlock passwords but I’d never seen it in operation and the numbers and letters flying or rolling through a few small windows on Sammi’s laptop literally were too fast to read any of them.

“We’re in,” she announced to Trish.

“And this one,” Trish replied.

I put down the two drinks I’d taken them and collected the dirty dishes. Once more I’d not been noticed, so intent was their concentration on the task in hand.

Two hours later I was talking with Daddy when Trish came down with the empty cups and asked for refills.

“How’s it going?”

“Oh we finished that ages ago, Sammi’s printing off stuff for the plod.”

“Oh good,” well what else could I say, I had no idea what they found.

“Yeah, looks like he was involved in helping someone hide things.”

“Things?”

“Yes Mummy, they were tax dodging and something else that Sammi said.”

“Go on, I’ll bring them up.” I made some more teas and took them up to Sammi’s room.

“You owe me a ream of paper,” she said pointing at the mound of paper still emerging from the printer.

“Is all that evidence?”

“That’s for the plod to decide, I’ve printed off everything and highlighted it on the computers. They’re now decrypted, so even the police should be able to find it all.”

“What did you find?”

“I was initially disappointed that we discovered he was covering the books for a firm of accountants, with all their clients who had off-shore money and other tax dodges. It could cause some people to pay large fines or end up in prison and some quite well known names too. I reckon he kept a list for himself, a nice little earner when he needed money.”

“So that’s why they killed him?”

“Ah no, there’s some stuff here about something far tastier than that.”

“Oh?”

“Looks like defence contracts fraud—big time.”

“I think I’d better call Toby.”

“He that nice copper Trish helped solve that murder?”

“Yes.”

“Nice guy.”

“I think so.” Why did I blush when I answered her?

“So I see,” she chuckled.

I went off and phoned Toby, he’d given me his mobile number and he promised to come straight over. I didn’t say anything about what had been found.

He was with us within half an hour and he brought a younger detective sergeant with him. I introduced him to Sammi and she proceeded to show the younger plod what she’d found on the computers, the young police woman nodded as if in understanding, I hoped it was because I certainly didn’t know what she was talking about.

Trish was showing Toby the paper evidence that had been printed off, mostly columns of figures from spreadsheets—even my quick glance showed there were some rather large sums of money involved.

“Anyone fancy a cuppa?” I asked twice before they all said yes. At least I now had something to do. I was busy making the teas when Toby came down talking on his mobile.

“Yeah, send a van, we’ve got some really juicy stuff here and those suspicions you had about a local MP and the defence contracts—we might have nailed him.”

Toby grapped me and planted a kiss on my cheek. I gasped. “Thanks,” he said, “You were absolutely right about your daughter, she undid about five levels of security to give us that stuff. No wonder they killed him—oh and there is a Jaguar, but it relates to a fighter jet—someone was selling them to an Arab state.”

“Ah, I think I’ll keep mine on the ground, though at times the extra acceleration would be useful, so would the guns.”

“I never had you down as aggressive, Cathy.”

I blushed and got very warm, “I’m not aggressive—it would all be very matter of fact.”

“That’s even more scary.”

I smiled, “For the female of the species is more deadly than the male,” I said quoting Kipling.*

“I think you may be right,” he said before picking up his mug and swigging the tea.

*http://www.potw.org/archive/potw96.html

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3226 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

It was a couple of days later that Toby called round to my office. “If I could recruit your family to the Hants Constabulary, we’d solve a lot more serious crimes.”

“All of us would be rather expensive, it’s just the two resident geniuses you’d want.”

“Don’t exclude yourself, Cathy, your insights put us on the right road in the beginning, and every team needs a leader or a professor.”

“Well I hope the investigation is progressing apace, the poor old Smithers deserve some hope of resting in peace.”

“D’you think she knew what he was up to?”

“I have no idea, but I doubt she didn’t have some inkling that he was up to something. Sammi said she knew him when she was a post grad student here.”

“But she was brighter than him?”

“She was brighter than the professor of computing, but you still need the bits of paper to say how clever you are—that’s all she was here for, she did her doctorate at Imperial College.”

“So not Oxbridge then?”

“I have a feeling that if ever she gets fed up protecting the bank and helping the security services, she may well be open to an approach from them or from the States.”

“She could earn a fortune over there.”

“I think she does quite well already.”

“Well I’ve got approval for a thousand for her and half that for young Sherlock.”

“See what I mean, it’s yonks since anyone offered me any money like that for a few hours work.”

“Um I’m sure I shouldn’t ask, but what were you doing for that sort of fee—nothing illegal I hope?”

“I did some stuff for the BBC.”

“I thought you were going to say...”

“What, car boot sale?”

He blushed and nodded.

“So how many arrests then since we unlocked the case of secrets?”

“We have four in custody, seven have been cautioned and a whole lot more are sweating because they know the net is closing on them.”

“What about the defence stuff?”

“Are we’re stepping very carefully there because it goes up the food chain quite a way and Special Branch are trying to squeeze in on the act.”

“Well here it’s the same old, same old.”

“I’m sure that’s a different pile of papers to the ones you were rearranging the day I came round to ask your help.”

“It probably is, my jailer—outside—won’t release me from office arrest until I finish a pile a day.”

“She looks quite charming to me.”

“Yeah but she’s discovered all my stashes of Lotus biscuits.”

“Ah, another detective then?”

“No, more like a spaniel—I’m sure she can smell them from two yards away.”

He laughed and for a moment I saw his white teeth in between the layers of fur adorning his lower face.

“I’d better be going then, you’d better get back to your paperwork—oh, nearly forgot, I have this for you.”

“What’s this?” I said taking the envelope from him.

“Open it and see.”

“A cheque?” I drew the object from the envelope. It was payable to the Billie King Ecology Centre, and it was for two hundred pounds.

“Thank you, though I’m not sure that we deserve this.”

“Cash it quickly before they find out about it in accounts.”

“I’ll pass it on to Dan, our centre manager.”

“And this is for you from me.”

“What?” I half gasped blushing furiously.

“Well open it then.”

“Okay, okay.” I fumbled, my fingers were obviously affected by the lack of blood caused by it currently turning my face into a radiator.

I drew out two tickets for the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra and a concert at the Guildhall.

“Those are from me.”

“Simon and I haven’t been to a concert for ages.”

“Well don’t waste them, if he’s too busy closing overdraughts and mortgages, give me a shout, I quite enjoy classical music too.”

“Thank you,” I said and pecked him on the cheek just as Diane came in—bloody typical.

“Caught you at it again, have I?”

“Yep, there goes my reputation again.”

“Again?” she huffed, “That’s a laugh.”

“What d’you want anyway?”

“The Vice Chancellor requests your personage.”

“When?”

She glanced at her watch, “Like ten minutes ago.”

“Did he say what for?”

“I don’t think it was because he was feeling lonely.”

“Do you have insubordination like this?”

“Not since I arrested them and subjected them to police brutality,” said Toby trying desperately to keep a straight face.

“Ooh, I confess,” said Diane holding out her hands for his handcuffs.”

“Confess to what?” asked our mystified detective.

“Taking money under false pretences, not to mention pinching my biscuits.”

“False pretences?” he said looking bemused.

“Yeah, she claims to be working here but I haven’t seen her do anything yet except eat my biscuits.”

“I think this may well be a civil case rather than involving the criminal law—I’ll see you somewhen, Cathy—bye um...”

“Diane,” she said beaming at him.”

“Right oh, bye,” he slipped through the door and escaped us.

“I thought you were happily married,” I said to my supposed personal assistant.

“So are you but it doesn’t stop you flirting, does it. Tea?” she was off before I could say anything.

Following her to the door I said, “I thought I had to go and see Tom?”

“Do you? Oh yeah—just as well, we’ve only got two biscuits left.”

It took about ten minutes to walk over to Tom’s office where Pippa smiled and told me to go straight in. I knocked and entered and found him deep in conversation on the phone, he beckoned me in and pointed to the chair .For some reason it reminded me of being back in school, facing the bane of my teenage years, Aubrey Murray, my erstwhile headmaster.

“Ah, Watts, glad you could find time to come—don’t sit down, I don’t want your effeminate arse on my chairs in case it contaminates them.” I felt like pointing out that my femmy bum was probably washed more often than most of the other inmates in this zoo. I felt my long hair touching my back, pulled into a ponytail and held there by the bright pink scrunchie he made me wear, but I wasn’t going to be intimidated by an oaf like him. “If you get your hair cut properly like a boy, Watts, you won’t need to wear that elastic thing—you realise how ridiculous it makes you look?”

“It feels reasonably comfortable, sir.”

“It feels reasonably comfortable, sir,” he whined in a silly voice. “The board of governors want to meet the girl who played Lady Macbeth. It’s tomorrow at midday, you’d better come to school in the girls’ uniform tomorrow—try not to get beaten up before they meet you.”
“Yes, sir.”

“And don’t wear too much makeup on that sissy face.”

“No, sir.” I sighed.

“Ye whit?” Suddenly Tom’s voice brought me out of my reverie.

Blushing I mumbled, “Oh nothing.”

“Ye said, ‘No, sir’ as if ye were saemwhere else?”

“Did I?” I felt really hot now.

“Ye ken fine weel ye did.”

“Okay, I had a flashback to school.”

“An’ that monster wha called himself a heid mester?”

“The same.”

“Och ye puir wee soul,” he offered his arms and I accepted the hug sniffing back a tear as I did.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3227 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

“Ah, Lady Cameron, could you step into my office?” asked Sister Maria when I went to collect the girls. Usually when it’s this formal one of the little madams has done something they shouldn’t have and I’ll bet I can guess just which one.

“Please take a seat,” she said proffering the chair opposite her. “It’s about young Trish...”

“She’s not hurt is she?” my heart raced as I’d blithely supposed she’d created mayhem again whereas in fact she could be lying injured awaiting me to take her home.

“No no, nothing like that, no it’s Sister Euphorbia, who’s feeling the anguish.”

“Oh I’m sorry, would you like me to apologise to her?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Has Trish done so?”

“No—she claims she has nothing to apologise for.”

“Really? So of what is she accused?”

“Well as you know, we are in Advent and Christmas is fast approaching.”

“It would be very difficult to avoid some contact with the Christmas industry.”

“Quite,” she said knowingly. “Well, we usually teach the nativity to all our classes in the hope that some of the better qualities of the infant Jesus will rub off on our pupils.”

“What did she do?” I sighed having a pretty good idea.

“Sister was in mid class telling them about the nativity in the stable in Bethlehem, when someone mentioned the word cobblers.” I felt myself blush, still it was better than bollocks, which she has been known to use. “Thinking that someone had thought of the shoe repairer being possibly operating from the stable yard, Sister Euphorbia paused her narrative to see who had interrupted her and I’m afraid it was young Trish.”

Oh shit, “Really?” I’ll kill her. I felt myself growing warmer.

“Yes and it wasn’t to ask about shoe repairs it was an expression of disbelief.”

“She seems quite happy to accept her Christmas presents...” I said rather lamely. “Isn’t that supposed to derive from the magi giving the infant Jesus the gold, frankincense and myrrh?” I knew that was cobblers too, but it might appease her.

“You don’t believe that for one minute do you?” she threw back at me, “No the present giving is older than Christianity—which I’m sure you know all too well.”

I shrugged and blushed.

“Your daughter then quoted chapter and verse, including verse numbers of the discrepancies in the gospels about the birth of Our Lord and then told Sister Euphorbia, that the historical evidence doesn’t back it up either and there was no census and even if there had been, Joseph would not have had to return to his birth place to register.”

I wondered which book of mine she’d been reading this time. I’m fascinated by the truth about the period not the allegories or mythologies and therefore have several books by various historians some of whom believe and some don’t—in the story in the gospels.

“Where did she get the term, parthenogenesis?”

“Uh—I’m a biologist if you remember?” Oh boy she really did her research, the little monkey—the problem is I don’t know whether I should reprimand her or congratulate her on the job. “It means...”

“I know fine well what it means, Professor...”

“Sorry,” I felt the warmth surge through me again.

“I’m aware it only applies to a small number of vertebrates mainly fish.”

“Uh yes.”

“I’m also aware it would mean that were it to happen in humans, Jesus would have been a girl.”

“Probably.”

“But that doesn’t take account of divine intervention.”

Neither do I, so I sat silently.

“It’s a miracle story.”

“Yes I’m well aware of the details, even though I share Trish’s view...”

“That it never happened?”

I nodded.

“But it’s so important to Christianity...”

“Is it? I’d have thought it undermined it somewhat.”

She did a double take. “What d’you mean by that?”

“Christianity has some wonderful elements and some of those have supported the evolution of caring societies in many places, making the parable of the good Samaritan a reality. Sadly in recent years it seems to have lost its way somewhat as we seem to be more interested in satisfying our greed rather than the needs of others. Jesus also preached to anyone and associated with all sorts of minorities and spoke of loving our neighbours. We don’t need miracles or fairy tales just the will to be kind and caring to those less fortunate than ourselves.”

She stared at me for several moments making me wonder if I’d overstepped the mark again—can’t think where Trish gets it from—then she smiled.

“You’ve enlightened me again, Lady Catherine—thank you.”

I blushed furiously. “I have?”

“Yes, sometimes we need to be reminded about the essence of Christianity and the love of Our Lord for other people. Thank you.”

“And what would you like me to do about Trish?” I said having given her a moment to reflect on her insight.

“Please ask her to think about other people’s feelings before she shows her cleverness. Sister Euphorbia said she felt absolutely drained.”

“Euphorbia?” I queried aware of a glint in my eye which I was trying hard not to allow to form a smirk.

“Euphorbia, yes, why?”

“Euphorbia is the spurge family.”

“What of it?”

“They were used as purgatives—you said she felt drained.”

“Purg...Oh dear I see what you mean. I can see where that child gets her cleverness.” She smirked and shook her head.

As we were about to leave her office she said, “That blue in your jacket is like the colour Our Lady wears in all the portraits.”

“Well I have worn it once too.”

“You what?”

“When I was in junior school I got drafted to cover a girl who was playing the Virgin Mary and who went sick at short notice.”

“I’m sure you made a very lovely one.”

“Uh—I was a boy at the time—or they thought I was.” * I blushed again.

“Lady Catherine, you were never a boy and perhaps this was God’s way of showing both you and the others that this was the case. Now go and repossess your girls and take them home—I’m sure they’re all starving by now.”

We shook hands and i went off to find my children. They were sitting in the corridor by the door to the playground waiting for me and chatting quietly.

“Oh there you are,” said Trish, “we wondered where you were.”

“I’ve been talking to your headmistress, I wonder if you can think why that was?”

“She wants you to present the prizes again?”

“No,” I said sharply.

“She wants a loan from the bank?” Trish was beginning to colour up.

“I think Mummy knows about it, Trish, you’d better ‘fess up,” advised Livvie and Hannah agreed.

“Well the old bat was spouting all these fairy tales and I knew they were wrong, so...”

“So you just had to put her right?”

“Yes, exactly that.” Replied Trish and I saw Danielle purse her lips and shake her head.

“Did it occur to you that those stories were important to your teacher?”

“But they’re just stories.”

“To you they may be, to her they are part of her faith and what right do you have to challenge that?”

“But it was all cobblers.”

“To you maybe. Tomorrow you will go and apologise to Sister Euphorbia and give her a letter saying why you are sorry. You will write that letter tonight and you will show it to me when you’ve done so. If I don’t deem it suitable then you will rewrite it until it is—do you understand?”

“But you tell us to challenge misinformation,” she began to sniff.

“It’s the manner in which you do it, young lady and it isn’t just an excuse to show that you are better read or cleverer. She may well have done the same research and still held to her beliefs.”

“She’d have to be stupid then.”

“Trish, that is your opinion you have no right to state it publicly. She is your teacher and you owe her some respect.”

It was a subdued group of schoolgirls who entered the people carrier as we went home. Sometimes I wonder if things would be easier if they weren’t so bright—but then—they wouldn’t be them, would they, any more than Sister Euphorbia would be without her beliefs and we have no right to tell her that she’s wrong.

* https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/41235/nativity-play - One I did earlier but worth another look.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3228 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 Angharad

---

”They said there’d be snow at Christmas; they said there’d be peace on earth...” droned one of my favourite Christmas songs as I contemplated Christmas. It had snuck up on me again and I had presents to buy, wrap and distribute under the Christmas tree. I’ll never forget the first one I had here at Daddy’s house, when I ended up with pine needles in a very uncomfortable place. A few litres of water have gone under the bridge since then. I can also recall the day that Trish came and she nearly died of joy when we gave her her own dolly and pram. That she could choose her own clothes to buy and be accepted for who she felt she was rather than a name on a birth certificate.

I had a week to sort out Christmas, find a solution to Brexit and help Trish build a reactor to produce nuclear fusion—without blowing up the planet. We also had a dormouse with us, one that the technicians could neither get to eat enough to hibernate or to hibernate.

Toby had been invited for Christmas dinner with Simon’s full agreement, in fact he suggested it, much to my astonishment. He just asked one night if my ‘copper friend’ had a girlfriend and when I said I didn’t know for certain but was pretty sure he didn’t, he suggested I invite him for Christmas dinner. On the understanding we don’t spend all afternoon discussing his current unsolved crime—‘nice bloke but needs the brains from this place to solve them,’ then he laughed at his own joke.

“Well Trish and Sammi are pretty well off the scale when it comes to IQ measurement,” I retorted proudly.

“More to life than IQs you know?”

“I’m well aware of that, Einstein had a huge one but was wrong almost as often as he was right.”

“Are we talking Albert or Trish, here?”

“Not Trish, him with the funny hair cut.”

“Ah, I can help there,” said my hubby.

“Help where?”

“I reckon that when he discovered E=MC2 it made his hair stand on end and it stayed that way.”

“I watched Brian Cox on the telly the other night,” I remarked thinking of the equation.

“Oh, him with the big brain in Manchester?”

“Yeah, he did some lecture at the Royal Institution on the science in Dr Who back in 2013...”

“Had to travel back in time to see it did you?”

“Ha ha, no it was on iPlayer, he was saying why time travel is impossible in the science we know today because we can only go forward at the speed of light. We’d need something like a black hole to cause the light to deviate.”

“Get Trish to knock you up one.”

“Look, what are we getting the girls for Christmas?”

“What about you? What would you like?” he asked me.

“I don’t need anything, darling, except perhaps to see you a bit more often and watch the girls grow and set off on their own careers.”

“Only, I happen to know of a brand new Range Rover, the streamlined one, Evoque or whatever they call ‘em.”

“What do I need one of those for?”

“When you’re doing your fieldwork...”

“In which case one of the Defender sorts would be more useful than a Chelsea tractor.”

“Okay, I’ll get you one of those.”

“I mean if I turned up on a field trip in a Range Rover they’d all think we were going shooting.”

“Okay you made your point. What about the girls?”

“That’s what I asked you.”

“Would they like a brand....”

“Don’t be silly, they’re all too young to drive except Jacqui and she has a perfectly drivable Audi, you got it for her, remember?”

“Oh the A3, yeah, nice little motor.”

“If we got them all new laptops, that would mean they were treated equally, I mean Danielle, Trish, Livvie, Hannah, Meems and Cate.”

“Could do or get them the latest iPhone.”

“They’re over a thousand pounds, isn’t that a bit excessive seeing as we could get reasonable spec laptops for much less than that, besides they all seem quite happy with their Samsung things, except the batteries run down so quickly. Come to think of it so does my Black Berry.”

“They’re making phones again.”

“Who?”

“Black Berry.”

“I didn’t know they’d ever stopped.”

“Don’t you keep up to date on anything these days, woman?”

“Yes, I’ve read the State of UK birds plus the last three or four reports about pesticides and insect loss.”

“I mean what’s happening in the real world, not some field in Panama.”

“Simon, what I read is about the real world, not the playground of the Bank of England old boys’ school.”

“Hey, what d’you mean by that?”

“Money is useful but it won’t be if there’s nothing to buy with it because we’ve killed everything except other people and that would probably be happening as well.”

“You’re too pessimistic, Cathy. Science will sort it as well as climate change. I mean what about that forest in Borneo that’s growing bigger because of global warming?”

“I think I’d like to see the data for that because I suspect they got something wrong somewhere.”

“How could you tell?”

“Various ways but the quickest is probably via satellite data from one of NASA’s Terra satellites.”

“Terror—they that frightening?”

“Very funny, Terra as in firma. They could do some LAI analyses.”

“What analyses?”

“Leaf Area Index, plus some measureable photographs.”

“What is leaf whatever index.”

“It’s a measure of the density of the tree or other vegetative canopies.”

“And they can tell that from a satellite?”

“Yes, to a rough calculation, yes. They use a MODIS system.”

“A what?”

“MODIS which stands for Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer.”

“Not a very good acronym, is it?”

“It is NASA...”

“Okay, point taken, what’s a spectro-thingy-meter, sounds like something James Bond should be dealing with.”

“That’s SPECTRE.”

“Bet you can’t tell me what that stands for.”

“You’d have taken my money very easily because I have no idea what it means nor care.”

“Special Executive for Counter Intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion.” He added, ‘Ta dah’ and bowed. I felt like saying it was the most irrelevant piece of information I’d ever heard of but that would have burst his balloon and he does like to show his cleverness every now and again. I suppose he’s been reading a James Bond book or watched a film recently.

“How did you remember that?”

“The little grey cells,” he said trying to sound like Hercule Poirot but was actually more like Clousseau.

“If your memory is that good, how come you forgot Julie’s birthday?”

“Who’s Julie?” he said, “Who are you? I can’t remember anything, everything is blank.”

“So you won’t remember agreeing to pay for the servicing of her car for the next three years then?”

“What? I didn’t did I?”

“You did,” well actually I did on his behalf, he was just paying for it.

“Perhaps I am getting forgetful.”

“You must be, you promised to take Danni to football training tonight.”

“What? I’ve got a meeting.”

“Well take the train and I’ll ask Julie or Stella to drive her in your car.”

“No way, Jose.”

“Well you can explain to her why you’re reneging on a promise.”

“Can’t you take her?”

“In your car?”

“No, use your own.”

“But she wanted to go in yours.”

He obviously thought better of letting his sister drive. “You’ll have to take me to the station then.”

“Fine, what time train is it...”

“How did you manage that, Mummy?” asked our football wonder.

“I negotiated, all right?”

“I love this car,” she said sitting in the F type and acting as if she was minor royalty.

“It is rather nice.”

“I still can’t believe he said you could borrow it.”

I could, fear is a very powerful emotion and he is scared by Stella’s driving.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3229 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

I bent down to take the dishes out of the washer and felt uncomfortable; like everyone else I’d eaten too much. Simon and Toby were chatting about something while Sammi checked over everyone’s new laptop. In the end even I decided I could do with a new one. Tom had nearly flung his out of the window as he battled with the difference between Windows 10 and his previous program. Trish was showing him what to do while he consoled himself with a dram.

Stella had gone for snooze, mainly because she’d imbibed too much, which, amazingly, neither Simon nor Tom had. Toby had drunk no alcohol as he was driving and despite being in the police said they’d still prosecute if they caught him and he’d made enough enemies as it was amongst his plod colleagues.

Last I heard they were talking about the Six Nations rugby competition and who was going to win it. They both agreed it wouldn’t be Scotland so England or Ireland were favourites. Sitting in the kitchen by myself I drank a cup of tea and just enjoyed a few minutes with nobody calling me to do something. It was ‘Mummmm, where’s my whatever?’ or ‘Mummy can I do so and so?’

For a moment I thought back to being called Mummy for the first time by Meems. It was a title I’d never in my wildest dreams ever expected to hear in regard to me; mind you, when I was in school, I would never have expected to end up as Lady Cameron, Lady Macbeth was as close as I’d reached in those days and I didn’t want to do that, but I’m glad in someways I did, if only for the short period I got to waltz about in skirts in a boys’ school which royally pissed off Murray. Our psychopathic headmaster.

I thought about the day he saw me breastfeeding at Gareth’s house, Murray, that is. Gareth tore a strip off him a mile wide. Poor old Gareth, he was such a nice man he certainly didn’t deserve to be murdered. At least James and I brought his killer to justice, all over quarrying. On reflection it seems so stupid, how can a pile of rock be worth someone’s life, but it was, to the murderer anyway.

I hadn’t spoken to James for a bit, would try and do so in the new year. There would be some changes then. Tom was retiring as Vice Chancellor and was going to be simply Professor Emeritus. When I offered to give him back his chair, he got very cross with me, saying he’d just eke out his career supervising a few post graduate students and me. I wasn’t looking forward to having a new boss, especially what they were saying about him. A business man with no experience of education since he’d graduated twenty years before. His salary, if the rumours were true, was twice what Tom had got, but his pension wasn’t to be sneezed at.

In some ways I was glad Tom had retired, it was wearing him out as he tried to do things conscientiously. I’d bet the new one won’t, not like Tom did. Maybe it was time for me to go as well but Tom wouldn’t hear of it. I’m a scientist and want to be out in the field not stuck in an office writing policies or begging letters for research funding.

Still whatever happened, I had to see my life as having achieved so much more than I’d ever imagined, and for that I was grateful. I don’t mean becoming a professor, that would have been pretty far down my list of dreams, but being a wife and mother, albeit adopted variety was so much more than I ever expected. It almost verged on miraculous.

I sniffed back a tear just as Sammi brought her mug out to the kitchen. “Oh there you are,” she said to me, “everything okay?”

“Yeah, just taking a moment to gather my thoughts.”

“That was a super dinner, Mummy, though I’ll have to diet for weeks to get the weight off again.”

“You look fine to me, young lady.” Which was true, though she’d suffered yet another relationship breakdown. How it was that someone as lovely and brilliant as she was couldn’t find a long term partner concerned me, especially when I seemed to be able to and wasn’t half as clever or beautiful as she was. Perhaps she frightens people away by being too clever for them? If she’s got trouble I wonder what will happen to Trish in the relationship stakes as she tends to dominate with her imperiousness at times, whereas Sammi is quite self effacing until someone tries to tell her something about which she knows more.

“Cheltenham were after me again.”

“Were?”

“Yeah, I told them I’d help when I had time but unless they could match my bank salary, I wasn’t interested in being poor as well as overworked.”

“What did they say?”

“They got a bit hot and bothered and told me that patriotism didn’t have a price.”

“No but living does.”

“I told them that, especially as Cheltenham isn’t exactly cheap is it?”

“No, the Cotswolds aren’t.”

“Still, I could quite enjoy having a seventeenth century house.”

“Always need something doing to them plus they’re nearly all grade two listed, so you can’t change the toilet roll without permission.”

She laughed at my exaggeration.

“You weren’t seriously considering becoming a spook, were you?”

“No, the intellectual challenge was tempting but I get enough of that keeping hackers out of the bank.”

“I’d have thought that was challenging enough.”

“Sometimes, but we’ve got a good team now and they’d probably cope without me.”

“So what would you like to do?”

She came and sat next to me. “Not sure, sometimes I think it would be nice to be a wife and mother, but that’s not going to happen is it?”

“Oh darling, don’t upset yourself,” I put my arm round her. “I didn’t think it would ever happen to me and you’re so much prettier and clever than I am.”

“Yeah, hasn’t done me a lot of good has it.”

I didn’t know what to say so said nothing, just hugged her until she regained control of herself. Livvie came out into the kitchen and did a quick about turn without saying anything. I don’t think Sammi saw or heard her. Thank goodness it wasn’t Trish, she’d have gone into psychotherapist mode and demanded to know what was happening.

“Cathy,” called Simon’s voice.

“I’d better go and see what Daddy wants.” I excused myself, intercepting Simon as he was about to come into the kitchen.

“Toby has to go,” he said in his normal voice and then whispering added, “Where have you been, it looked as if you’d abandoned him.”

“I was busy in the kitchen, why?”

“I just told you, it looked like you’d deserted us.”

“I was giving you some space and sorting out the dishes.”

“Grabbing some space for yourself.”

“A bit of a breather, yes, why?”

“Nothing, just asking.”

I went to see Toby off, he said he had to pop in and see his mother and there was a case he was working on which would be easier to do while the office was quiet. I knew that feeling.

“Thanks for a brilliant lunch, Cathy. It was really good.”

“Thank you for my flowers,” he’d given me a bouquet.

“You’re welcome.”

He pecked me on the cheek, shook Simon’s hand and called goodbye to the girls.

“If you need help, you know where to find me,” called Sherlock Watts from the lounge. I nearly burst trying to stifle a laugh, Simon just roared and Toby chuckled.

“She means it,” I added.

“I know, but it wouldn’t look too good if she solved it first would it, given I’m supposed to be the professional.”

“As a consulting detective, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Consulting detective? Didn’t Sher...”

I smiled at him and nodded.

“Wasn’t Mycroft supposed to be better?” he said very quietly.

“Yeah but she’s in the kitchen,” I said referring to Sammi.

“Nice girl,” he observed.

“Yeah and she’s gonna stay that way,” said Simon firmly.

“She’s a bit young for me anyway,” sighed Toby and with that he went out into the drizzle and we waved as he drove off moments later.

“He’d better not be sniffing around Sammi,” declared Simon in anything but the spirit of Christmas, “Bad enough knowing he fancies you.”

“So why did you get me to invite him?”

“Dunno, must be getting soft in me old age. What’s for tea?”

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3230 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

Christmas quickly became New Year—how can it be 2018 already? Bloody hell, I’d be thirty five this year, no wonder my girls think I’m getting senile, I probably am. I mean, thirty five is middle aged, it’s when people’s hair goes grey or falls out, they get fat and have heart attacks. Looks like the beginning of the end, but then I’ve escaped having things ended a few times in the past decade or so—all since meeting and becoming one of the Cameron Clan. Before that life was relatively mundane, the worst that would happen was that someone would try to beat me to death, usually my dad or people in school—but they weren’t professionals, like some of the ne’er do wells I’ve met since.

I glanced out of my office window, it was raining—again: I was back in work, the girls were back in school, God was in his heaven and was right with the world—yeah, right. The equilibrium we have in the world is such a fragile item and so easily disturbed especially by some of the supposed leaders of the world, like Trump in the US or Putin in Russia or the bloke in China who wants to be president for ever—just like the other two sociopaths I just mentioned. Then the strange man with the even stranger haircut in North Korea, who seems to be making overtures to the west by agreeing to have a joint Korean winter Olympics team. The other week he was threatening to fire missiles at Hawaii or some such thing. Is it just a ruse to wrong foot the Americans while he thinks of something else, playing for time or has he run out of malevolent ideas for the time being?

The New Vice Chancellor takes over at the end of June, so Tom has a couple or so months to prepare himself for being semi retired. I hope he finds something to do that he enjoys, some emeritus professors do some of their best work at the end of their careers because they don’t have to play by the rules so much—they can hardly be sacked, so don’t have to watch what they say or do.

There’s a rumour going around that the new VC wants to have a new logo designed for the university to demonstrate it’s under new management. I wonder how much that will cost and you can guarantee it won’t come out of his salary—no my poor students will pay for it. What a waste of time and money. This Office for Students the government has set up is another waste of time and money, it won’t do what students want, which is to spend less and get more from the system, but rather what the government wants. But things are changing—not necessarily for the better—but they are changing and I see London are setting up a computer science course which will be entirely on line—can’t see the Open University being too happy about that, as most of their courses are almost completely on line.

I’ve got a meeting with Trish’s tutor—we get her and Livvie extra tuition to keep them stretched mentally. They’re doing A-level maths and physics come the summer and we’ve been advised to think about sending them to university. Trish wants to go to Oxford or Cambridge. I’m not so sure simply because of the age factor and all the social stuff they do, she’d be between five and ten years younger than most other students and vulnerable.

When I last spoke to Simon about it he told me to get a chair at Oxford and then I could keep an eye on her—yeah, just like you do. I said we’d need to find someone to act as her in loco parentis and pay them. It’s not impossible and we can afford it, it’s more about not wanting her to go from my own emotional point of view than anything else. I feel she’s too young emotionally even if her brain is up for it. If we could just send her brain, sort of Monday to Friday and have it brought home for weekends, it would be much easier. Perhaps I should ask her to research a way to do it?

Because I’ve been so busy I just have two post-graduate students to supervise, they’re to do a project on researching remodelling proteins in recessive gene diseases. Not my usual cup of tea but no one else would do it and we managed to get research grants for both of them plus half a million to build a new laboratory for them to work in. They’re both bright sparks but one reminds me a little of Trish, incredibly clever but a little immature for her age—she’s now nearly twenty-five and acts like an adolescent much of the time.

It’s the first day back and Diane is snowed under with work, I’ve even had to type one or two of my own letters. We were only closed for just over a week, so where have all these epistles come from? Apparently, they showed my harvest mouse film over the Christmas holiday on BBC 4, which is a television channel, not Radio 4 and we had another boost in enquiries from young women who want to catch harvest mice for three years. The reply we make does tend to suggest there’s a bit more to mammal biology than tickling harvest mice or even dormice, but we’re rarely short of student applications and Henry wants me to do something on pine martens, which the BBC have given a provisional approval to as well.

I recalled the conversation we had on Boxing Day. “Saw the harvest mouse film again on Christmas eve.”

“I’d forgotten it was on,” was my response—well it’s relatively old hat these days, for me anyway.

“I think one on the pine marten would be rather good, the BBC have provisionally agreed to buy it as well.”

“Well when they show it, I'll certainly watch it,” I said deadpan.

“You’re going to make it.” He fired back in quite a firm tone.

“What when I retire?”

“No, this coming year. Get Alan or whatever his name is to make some room in his schedule.”

“It’s not my field of expertise, I’m sure there are much better qualified ecologists to make it, there was an article in the Mammal Society newsletter the other month of a woman in Scotland or the North of England who tracks them by their poo.”

“Cathy, I don’t want to film their poo, I want to see you out there showing the rest of us how easy it is to see them, for a talented biologist like you.”

“I think you might be confusing me with Chris Packham, he’s a jack of all trades zoologist.”

“No, daughter in law, I think I can recognise each of you individually and he’s not as beautiful as you.” Perhaps he wasn’t as tiddly as I thought, though he’d had several glasses of wine. His chauffeur was coming to get him about five o’clock, it was two when I last looked at the kitchen clock. Monica was upstairs with the younger girls, they were playing with their doll’s house. I had it made for Trish and Meems but only Meems ever played with it and even then she preferred to play with her dolls, changing them or feeding them and so on. She still likes them even though she’s ten years old heading towards eleven. Where has that time gone?

Diane came into my room with an armful of letters to be signed. I did wonder about getting my signature transposed to the computer so she can get them done without needing to bother me, but part of me likes to see what my name is being put to and if I’ve signed it, then I accept responsibility for what has been sent, including some to some less than diligent students who need a bit of a rocket.

“My fingers are worked to the bone,” she complained.

“Can’t sign those today,” I said winding her up.

“Why not?”

“My fountain pen has run out of ink.”

For a moment I thought she was going to attack me, instead she dumped the pile of paper on my desk and walked over to the cupboard by the window and dug out a bottle of ‘Quink’. “Fill it and get signing,” she said and stamped out of the room.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3231 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

By the time I went to collect the children, I was feeling pretty tired. What a silly phrase, how can you look pretty when you’re tired? I suppose Si might think I was but then he’s crazy, so his opinion doesn’t count.

Sister Maria was talking with the girls when I arrived and she smiled at me then disappeared into her office. I wasn’t sure if she went to get something, so we left rather quickly. The last thing I needed at the moment was to get caught for anything more than buying a few raffle tickets. That, I could just about cope with.

“Tired, Mummy?” observed Danni once we were home and she was making me a cuppa.

“Just a bit,” I allowed trying not to share the degree of my fatigue with her, as my job is to see they’re all okay before dealing with my own needs, which were simple—a bite to eat and then bed. Of course it never goes to plan, does it? Life I mean, somebody always spoils it in this case it was Julie and Phoebe via the Hampshire fire service. It seemed their salon caught fire which then spread up to their flat, which is above it, and the whole bloody place burnt down. Suddenly, I was no longer tired, the phone call relating their dilemma spurred me into action and with the support of their siblings we had two beds made up in their old rooms before they arrived back home.

I didn’t bother trying to go to help, I can’t fight fires but I could make them welcome when they arrived home. They did, shocked, smoke blackened but with their handbags and in their cars. That was about all they’d managed to save, the rest was up in flames.

I sent them both up to shower, to get rid of the smell—they stank of smoke. Once they’d changed into some of their old clothes, I gave them food and drink, David having gone home after our meal, half an hour before. Once they’d dealt with a bit of the shock, we sat and talked at the kitchen table, just like old times.

Apparently they were having a new sun bed fitted. I knew they were dangerous things but from the perspective of causing melanoma and other skin nasties, but this one must have been faulty because after the bloke fitted it, it caught fire and the rest we know about. Everything was insured and the salon was doing well, but the disruption it would cause to their clientele would take many months to resolve if ever.

The problem was twofold, they needed to get the old premises rebuilt, which would take months even if they could find a builder. Maureen may be able to help there but the insurance investigation would have to be carried out and they’d need temporary premises somewhere near if it was possible.

One thing we could do was to call their clients. When Sammi, who else, set up their computerised appointment system, she had a backup on the cloud, I think they call it. I suspect that means it’s backed up on the internet by one of the big companies, which meant Trish could find it on her computer and print them off lists of names and phone numbers. Julie and Phoebe began to phone around. I left them at it and went off to speak with Simon, who was stuck in Town, having had a late meeting and another early tomorrow. He was naturally upset but said he’d chase the insurance tomorrow—he’d arranged it all through the bank, so was best placed to do that.

I then started looking on the web for vacant shops nearby, which they could use as a temporary salon, once they’d been cleaned up and equipment ordered. I found one half a mile away from their old place and sent an email to the estate agent asking for an urgent meeting. I also sent one to our solicitor to be ready to deal with leases and rents if the place was acceptable. I printed off the detail of the place and went to see the girls.

They were astonished that I was talking about a temporary move for them, thinking that they’d never be able to afford the equipment twice. I reminded them that I was married to a bank.

Julie then panicked, not being able to remember what they’d need and what they’d had. Trish smirked and printed off a list of all their equipment and even the stocks they had of various shampoos and so on, so thorough had Sammi’s computerisation been. It was all set up with a bar code reader for stock and everything else was entered on the system as it was bought, which fortunately, Phoebe dealt with it and she was very conscientious about doing it. So we had a list of everything with the original prices—the insurance claim, should be a doddle.

It was late when I got to bed and I left Julie and Phoebe talking in the kitchen, having chased Danni off to bed half an hour before. Then, when I got into bed my head was spinning and my mind was buzzing like a hive full of angry bees. I think I finally got to sleep about half past one, some two hours later.

The next day, despite their protests, I made the girls go to school—David took them while I told Diane I probably wouldn’t be in until later if then.

“Was that your daughters’ place I saw on the local news?”

“Yes.”

“Give them my love, I’ll deal with your calls.” I thanked her and made Julie, who was grumbling about the stuff she’d found in the wardrobe being inadequate, eat some breakfast.

“We are going looking at a fire scene and possibly somewhere to move to temporarily, you aren’t going to need good clothing for that.”

“It’s all right for you,” she threw back at me.

“What d’you mean?” I replied.

“Well, you’re old and used to being seen as a refugee from Oxfam.”

It was only the slight edge of a smile around her mouth that stopped me from changing my mind and going into work. Twenty five year old adolescents do nothing for me, I have to deal with them for a living in the university, I don’t need to at home as well.

The estate agents called me and I got a very different response once they found out it was Lady Cameron, yes that one, the banker’s wife, then had appeared to be their opening gambit of that shop had been let. Suddenly, they had two or three better ones not too far away.

So at nine thirty, we were driving into Portsmouth in my Jaguar, looking to find the first possible replacement site for the salon, and even then Trish had sent two texts saying she was happy to speak with Sister Maria to get a hour or two off school to negotiate contracts for us with estate agents, as she knew I wasn’t very good at that sort of thing Julie thought it was hilarious, especially when I told her I’d recently negotiated half a million pounds for a new laboratory building for my two post grad students. But then, Julie was quite an astute businesswoman and probably able to fight her own corner, so I was happy to be background support and let the two young women, I was privileged to think of as my daughters, deal with any negotiations if they arose. I’d be useful later asking Simon to give them a temporary loan to get the places sorted and equipped.

On the way Maureen texted us to ask if it was Julie’s salon that had caught fire and to let her know if she could do anything to help. It’s nice to have friends, especially ones like Diane and Maureen.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3232 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

It was the second shop we looked at that resonated with me. It was bigger than their original one and the flat above it had three bedrooms, a kitchen/diner and bathroom. It would need some rewiring, some new plumbing and complete redecoration, all of which could take weeks. Then we’d have to get the equipment ordered, possibly before things were finished in the shop, in case there was a time delay.

The visit to the old premises made us a little tearful, everything was gone but the forensic service of the fire brigade had identified the source of the fire as where the girls said the sunbed had been fitted. “I hope the guy who did it is insured,” mumbled the fireman who showed us the damage.

“Why? Can we sue him?” asked Julie pointedly.

“I’m no legal expert, luv, but if he fitted it yesterday and it burnt down the same night, it looks as if a court might think it a tad suspicious in terms of neglect.”

“He was in a hurry to get back to Maidenhead.”

“I’d write some of this down if you can, ladies and if you have his name, all the better. From the bits I can see of the remains of your wiring, it all looks in good condition.”

“It was, we had it done before we moved in, didn’t we, Mummy?”

“Yes, Maureen organised it, so it would be top class.”

“Maureen? I know a few women electricians and very good they are too, but I don’t know anyone of them called Maureen.”

“Maureen Ferguson,” Julie offered.

“That’s not the one who used to be called Maurice is it? Used to work in the shipyard, my brother knew him.”

“I don’t think so,” I said closing the discussion and led Julie away before she challenged his prejudices, it would be useful to keep him on board until we got any compensation we could from the sunbed company. Hopefully, they’ll have full third party insurance for public liability.

The estate agent, a Mr Brookes, of Rivers, Poole and Brookes Estate agents and valuers, took the hint to clear off while I convinced the girls the new shop would be even better, though it would take some time.

Phoebe went off and found a coffee shop and returned with three lattes and some croissants, so we had a traditional English breakfast while we examined the shop. I sent Maureen a text and half an hour later she was there with two of her workers and astonishingly the others were all men. When I raised an eyebrow she whispered, “Can’t get the trannies these days,” and then snorted to herself.

“”You got a lease yet?” she asked me and I shook my head.

She pulled out a notebook and began making entries in it. “It’s going to cost about twenty k,” but we’ll rewire upstairs as well and replace this thing,” she tapped an internal door, “with a proper fire door, and we’ll do the ceilings with a fire resistant boarding. I would strongly recommend a fire escape for the flat outside the building.”

“What a spiral staircase type thing?”

“Yep, about five k extra but it could be a lifesaver.”

I spoke to Simon while Mo chatted with the girls, the two colleagues were checking for damp and even went up into the attic to look for woodworm and other pests. They discovered bats—the worst pests because they are completely protected. I still have a licence and ran up the ladder and saw it was a colony of brown long eared bats. I told them they were not allowed to disturb them at any cost. They just shrugged. Maureen said she’d make sure the law was followed though it could make the rewiring a bit of a problem. She said she’d speak to English Nature and send them the photos she’d taken on her phone to see what they were allowed to do.

Mr Brookes returned at my behest and I told him of the bat colony. His face fell a couple of storeys. ‘Oh shit,’ he muttered.

“You’re certain?”

“Totally, brown long eared, about twenty of them.”

“Can’t we get someone to remove them?”

“You could try but at up to five thousand per animal, it could prove expensive and if the magistrates so deem it, the punishment could also include a prison sentence.”

“All for some flying bloody rodents.”

“They aren’t rodents, they’re completely different order of mammals, to start with they’re insectivores not omnivores, although they’ll take spiders as well. Maureen has informed Natural England so if they disappear now, they’ll come looking for you, Mr Brookes, because as an ecologist I have informed you they are there and pointed out your responsibility as agents for the property.”

“I don’t think our client will be too happy about it.”

“In which case see if he’ll sell, I could be willing to buy at the right sort of price.”

“For an ecologist you seem to be well grounded in business strategy.”

“She’s a professor, Mr Brookes,” quipped Julie,” she negotiates contracts all the time and much bigger than this piffling place.”

“I see, I’ll call him later today and see if he would like to set a price.”

“Please explain that I’m not interested in debating prices, if he makes us a reasonable offer, we’ll buy, if not then we’ll look elsewhere. Remember my husband owns a bank and he can make things happen, good and bad and very few people can match up to a few billion pounds, which he has at his disposal.”

“Are you threatening me, Lady Cameron?”

“No, just making a prediction. The last person who tried to stiff him now lives in a cardboard box under Waterloo Bridge.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That was what Simon said when the guy tried to rob him, the bank’s lawyers did the rest, pity, he had a nice house in Kingston upon Thames before that.”

“I see.”

“I thought you would,” I smiled benignly but it was all false and he knew it. No one shafts me any more except my husband.

When we stopped for lunch at a nearby pub, the Matelot’s Arms or some other part of his body, can’t remember which I called Si again and he asked me what I thought it was worth. I read him the specifications from the handout and then mentioned the bats in the attic. He roared and said, “That’s worth a couple of thou or more off the asking price. Tell the guy to phone me when he’s ready.”

“I’m sure I could deal with it,” I said almost in tears.

“I know you could, but he’ll prefer to talk to another bloke.”

“It could be a woman who owns it.”

“Nah, his name is Watercress or something like that, hang on, it’s Waterston, Alfred Waterston and he’s about eighty five according to our records, he also has an account with us and owes us quite a lot of money.”

“Isn’t that conflict of interest, Si?” I gasped.

“Nah, it’ll be quite amicable unless he doesn’t like my offer.”

“Which is?”

“Haven’t decided yet, one of our estates people is on his way to look at it.”

“We need for Maureen to gain entry to start renovations.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long to process once he agrees.”

“You home tonight?”

“Why, what’s on offer?”

“Could be,” I said blushing at the double entendre.

“Eh?”

I rang off.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3233 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

I will be glad when the girls get the shop sorted and their accommodation over it because it has been like civil war here, and that’s just about the use of the bathrooms. Altogether we have five of them but when there’s ten of you, it gets complicated, especially when someone blocked up the drains, I presume accidently, with a sanitary towel or something similar, flushing it down the loo rather than putting it in the bin. Thankfully, Maureen had called to speak to Julie about something and ten minutes later we had a plumber and his rods out in the drive poking things down a manhole. It was he who told me what had blocked it. When he saw all the females there he just smiled—I suppose with school out for Easter, the house must resemble something from the Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. In our case, with half a dozen grumpy, wannabe alpha females prowling round like irascible lionesses, pride may have been a better word than prime, unless it relates to explosives.

The university was closed for ten days over the ‘spring holiday,’ as politically correct people call it, although I’m quite happy with Easter, a pagan festival of renewed fertility of the land, though with only so many harvests left, according to the soil experts, fertility may be something we won’t be celebrating for very much longer.

Apparently the soil is leached clean of nutrients through over intensive farming and lack of rotation of crops, where the topsoil actually stays on the fields. In places it runs off when it rains or blows off when it’s dry. A symptom of removing hedgerows. Part of the problem has been increasing mechanisation, which continues. In theory, you can have an unmanned tractor plough or harvest a field, controlling it by computer with GPS and radio instructions. Effectively robots are doing our farming in places, I wonder if they use them to shoot badgers as well. Apparently, they are extending the cull which is crass stupidity given that the results so far have shown it to be ineffective and expensive but in politics, common sense, reality or scientific evidence count for naught against the will of the people or some other imaginary group of geniuses all with IQs in single figures.

Julie and Phoebe were busy with Maureen choosing bathroom suites or something so at least they were out of the way for a few hours, so I just had the others to organise. It had rained on an off most of the holiday and for somewhere different to go they asked me to take them to the hotel in Southsea so they could use the gym and the pool. I called ahead and they replied that they had enough fitness instructors to supervise six girls. I presume if they don’t, they send for a special forces detachment.

Danni had gone to the football club for training so hadn’t bothered to come with us, so that was one less to worry about. I dropped her off on our way out and Julie had agreed to collect her on the way back.

En route we picked up a story about the Open University, apparently the Daily Mail was calling for the government to subsidise it, which was a bit of a surprise. I didn’t think it would be in their interest to teach people to think because they’d see through most of their stories and all of their columnists. I’d also heard rumours that the staff and University council had voted no confidence in their vice chancellor and he was being given the bums rush once they discovered how much it would cost to get rid of him. He wanted to save a hundred million from their budget by getting rid of teaching staff. So, how do you improve a university? Get rid of the teachers – yeah it makes sense if you see universities as a business rather than an educational establishment, following an American model, except they have a bit more money over there.

I’ve always been a supporter of the OU because it meant people who weren’t mainstream students could study for all sorts of things up to and including degree level and they could do it cheaper and in their own time which isn’t really possible in a traditional university, having said that, some of our students appear at times to be occasional visitors to lectures so could be considered to be working in their free time but not for their courses.

One of the things we did over the holiday was to watch Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall doing a wild life series. Of course, the girls told me I could have done it better, but I quite enjoyed just watching it rather than being a professional ecologist just for a few hours. I also had to admit I’d never seen ten or a dozen long tailed tits roosting together at night in the winter, but they found someone who had and who the birds allowed to film them. It was amazing to see the higher status birds just land in the middle of the row, where it’s warmer and the poor lower status ones being on the very ends, where it gets colder.

He did all sorts of things some very simple like watching a murmuration of starlings, which can involve thousands of birds forming huge flocks before they roost and wheeling around in amazing three dimensional shapes before they do roost. He had to see dormice of course and for that he went out with a chap from Devon, that I met a while ago at a conference. He’s been radio tracking animals to find their winter hibernation nests and it appears they don’t use just one or stay asleep for the whole winter, they move around quite a bit. Which may explain why so many die in the winter.

At the hotel, I sat and worked on my laptop while six wild children tried to drown each other or themselves but were having great fun in doing so. I was quite enjoying myself too until I got an email from the new vice chancellor asking me to attend a meeting on the coming Monday morning at eight o’clock—breakfast would be provided. I hate breakfast meetings, they are generally a waste of time and money and called by people who have no idea how busy my house gets first thing in the morning.

However, what really made cross was an email from a colleague who has a disabled husband, and for whom breakfasts are probably as difficult as mine are, who wrote and said she’d sent apologies to him regarding the meeting as being very inconvenient and he’d as good as told her to collect her cards instead. I’d have to check, but I didn’t think he had the authority to fire a senior head of department. I was tempted to see what happened if I declined to attend as well. Would he have the neck to try and sack me and could he? Or would I lead a revolt to get rid of him as I did with one before Tom took over the job.

I would sleep on that and may or may not try my luck, after all, I don’t actually need to work for the money, for me it’s an emotional need, to teach people and to save my beloved wild life. There are some things more important than money, says she who has loads of it—yeah, I know, but I still think it’s true.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3234 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

I discussed things with Tom when he came back in with the dog. He told me to go to the meeting he’d see the girls to school and not to give the new VC anything to use against me. He said my reputation as someone not to be trifled with was already well known and it would also be well enough known that I’d helped in the mutiny which disposed of a previous VC.

So, taking particular care over my appearance I attended the vice chancellor’s office with five other professors, it was filled with the smell of toast and bacon and eggs as we sat to eat at the mahogany table which Tom had used for meetings only. I shouldn’t grumble, the smell of the food made me feel far hungrier than I should have been and I certainly ate my share, having two rashers of bacon and two eggs, as well as a sausage and some toast. I probably wouldn’t need lunch after all that, and I would certainly need the time it freed up to get my paperwork done.

He started the meeting before we’d finished eating, given that it was a breakfast meeting, I suppose I couldn’t complain. I also became rapidly aware that I was the only woman there, apart from his secretary—no longer Pippa, she left when Tom retired and as far as I know was working as a PA to the mayor of Portsmouth, which probably paid better than the university.

The VC, Colin La Fasse, who I managed to pronounce as laugh-arse to Diane a bit later, upset me by saying that three other women professors had been invited but only I attended. I did point out that they had children or dependent adults and that he shouldn’t read their absence as indifference, rather difficulties at home with short notice meetings.

He gave me a stern look and then said, “Well Professor Watts, you have a large family and still managed to make it on time.”

“My situation is possibly different to the others in that I have a paid helper living on site.”

“Ah yes, the advantages of being in the upper stratas of society.”

“Strata, I believe is a plural word, is it not?” I said correcting him and got a look of pure vitriol in return plus at least one other person taking in a sharp breath. Quite honestly, I didn’t care, as I said before I don’t need the job for the same reasons as the others, in that I don’t need the money. I did a small report for the bank over Easter and it satisfied the board that I was worth the two hundred and fifty thousand a year they placed in my bank account. Altogether I was probably earning as much as Laugh-arse, so he held no fears for me, except possibly that my presence on the university council and senate may help protect those he was trying to get rid of.

“I stand corrected,” he smiled a sickly and obviously false smile, more of a grimace as if he was having a poo at the same time. “The benefits of a private education, no doubt.”

I chose not to challenge this as we’d be fencing all meeting and I’d be no wiser as to what he was wanting to do. His changing the logo at a cost of many thousands went unchallenged by the others, my only comment being I could see nothing wrong with the old one.

“It’s all about rebranding, these days, professor, you have to be prepared to change your image to keep up with the rest, if not lead the pack.” I was tempted to suggest that in wolves very often the pack leader is the alpha female, but that would no doubt have been a trifle too obvious an insult, even for a thick skinned numpty like him.

I’ve seen these people before, all drive and no direction, no back up plans or safety measures because they are convinced in their own infallibility. As far as I know only the pope claims that and I’m not sure if they do it these days. The current one is probably too street wise to do so. He also seems a reasonably nice man, from what I’ve seen, although his last decision was a bit more conservative unless that came from the circle that surrounds him, which is always conservative.

“So, we rebrand the university, offer some new courses which none of the competition are doing and we look to move this place up the league tables.”

“I thought we were doing quite well with student satisfaction surveys and also the gold award we got in the universities survey, Oxford only managed a bronze.”

“There lies complacency, Professor, we need to keep on our toes. The education market is very challenging.”

“I’m sorry Vice Chancellor, but this isn’t the United States. The only market we should be in is one of trying to achieve excellence in research and educating young minds. If we do that, we’ll never be short of students or research sponsorship.”

The way his face went very red and I thought i could see a blood vessel throbbing in his neck possibly meant he didn’t much like my difference of approach.

“Professor Watts, it may be your job to achieve excellence in research and educational standards but it’s mine to sell the university to the outside world, to bring in the income which keeps us all in pocket and enables new facilities, like your new laboratories.”

I wasn’t going to argue that my labs had been funded by sponsorships I’d arranged for the research they were doing in molecular biology and they’d been built before he even thought about coming to us.

“I thought Cathy got that funding herself,” said old Fossdyke, from business and commercial department, not usually one of my supporters probably because we rarely spoke and thus had little in common.

“I was using that purely as an example—now I’m here, I shall expect to take the lead in attracting new funding and facilities.”

“The bank won’t like that,” Fossdyke retorted.

“Bank, what’s it got to do with a bank.”

“Read your notes, Vice Chancellor, much of the research here is sponsored by High Street Bank, thanks to Cathy.”

The red face returned and I think he was going to say something very rude, possibly about old Fossdyke or possibly the bank, then he thought better of it. “Of course, Lady Cameron, in your other, more lucrative role—you must introduce me to your father in law.” He gave me a cheesy smile and I nearly suggested that I would be delighted to, once hell froze over. Instead I avoided eye contact and said nothing.

Mind you, Henry would see straight through a pompous jackanapes like laugh-arse. So perhaps I should introduce them, nah it could reflect on me. Compared to Tom, this man was a self important wind bag, who felt he was worthy of a salary far beyond his value or talent. Life looked as if it was going to remain interesting if not exactly comfortable for the foreseeable future, if this parasite remained in post for any length of time, because that was how I saw him, a giant parasite looking to further his own interests over that of the university and its staff and students.

Given the recent removals of VCs at Bath, Oxford and even the Open University, you’d think he’d have the sense to bide his time, but no, his huge ego is like a giant broom sweeping everything before it. We’ll see.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3235 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

The weekend gave me a chance to refresh my sanity, although the girls were at times apparently on a mission to prevent it. It all started off with a weird dream. In it, the real reason why farmers were culling badgers had nothing to do with bovine TB but rather the badgers had discovered the real reason for Brexit and were going to tell all to the Guardian. So the government paid farmers loads to silence them. On reflecting on it while I sat on the loo, it made as much sense as the apparent reasons--disaffection and dissatisfaction with the political classes by those who felt they had been neglected. It is possibly the same reason for Trump's success in the States, except that the problems both will cause will affect those who voted for them the most and in a negative way.

On returning to bed, Simon was lying on his back snoring Rule Britannia interspersed with Land of Hope and Glory. I shoved him over as I got into bed and he returned to silent running--isn't that something to do with submarines? Where did that come from?

It was five o'clock and try as I might, I wasn't going to get back to sleep again, so took myself downstairs and made myself a cuppa. It was while I was drinking said reviving fluid that Trish appeared.

That makes it sound like she popped up through the floor or in a flash of light (can you get a flash of anything else--exempting strange men's--ugh--never mind). "Mummy, why are you up so early?"

"I could ask you the same, young lady." If stuck for an answer, ask a question back.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Neither could I."

"Am I going to get anzeimers? They say you get it if you don't sleep enough."

"Alzheimer's disease, you mean?"

"See, I've forgotten its name already, I must have it, Mummy."

The problem was she was genuine, she burst into tears saying the was 'becoming demoted'. What an awful thing for a child to fear. When I was her age, I was so frightened of myself and my gender predicament, I had no time to worry about the long term future, possibly because I thought I didn't have one and that my short and unhappy life would either end in being killed by someone or doing it myself.

I held her to me and quietly reassured her that she was too young to get dementia and by the time she got old, there would probably be a cure for it. I wasn't sure how much I believed it, but as long as she did, it was of no matter. Half an hour later she was sitting on my lap and we both fell asleep in the chair, until the tea sought egress and her weight pressing on my bladder made the situation more urgent.

Leaving her curled up in the chair and fast asleep I trotted off to the loo only to be accosted by Mima as I came out of the convenience. "Whe's Twish? She's not in bed?"

I hushed her and led her through to my study where her sister remained in her dormant state. She sniggered and whispered rather loudly, "She wooks wike a do-mouse."

"Nah, if she was her tail would be up over her nose." It was the wrong thing to say because Mima roared with laughter waking up her sister.

"Wossappening?" she yawned and then jumped upright and ran off to the cloakroom, calling, "Gotta wee," as she went. I don't think it was a war cry, but with Trish, who knows?

The two of them went back to bed leaving me with my thoughts and a total lack of sleepiness. I had some second marking to do of a PhD dissertation so made some more tea and picked up my pencil. The idea was very well written and the arguments it raised answered succinctly. Dave Goulson, he of the bumblebees ( he studies them it's not a pop group) suggests that when you are writing a PhD dissertation, until someone reads it, you possibly know more about its matter subject than anyone else because you have just spend umpteen years studying it and not much else.

It wasn't apparent in this particular dissertation, but Goulson would have enjoyed reading it as it was about the effects of pesticides on bees, especially those of the neonicotinoid variety used as seed dressings in things such as oilseed rape.

It's now quite well known that the poison stays in the plant and even contaminates the pollen and nectar any of its flowers produce and at the same time some washes out to poison the soil and nearby watercourses through the ground water. A little goes a long way, especially in terms of poisoning invertebrates, which in turn are eaten by larger things. It happened with the organochlorines and appears to be the case with neonicotinoids, though of course the farming lobby and those in the pay of the huge agrichemical industries deny it. The EU have just agreed to ban them indefinitely except for use in closed glasshouses, which of course have drains which will distribute the poison quite adequately to maintain a problem, but it appears the EU didn't have the bottle to ban them entirely, which is what is needed, until they invent the next batch of toxic chemicals and heavily market them, bribing governments and some scientists to keep quiet about the harmful effects until they've made as much money as they can.

As with the tobacco industry, the lies will continue even though they know the substances they sell will poison us eventually or cause diseases which would otherwise have been avoidable.

I put down the dissertation promising to look at it again when I was fully awake and decided to go back to bed before anyone else appeared and kept me awake. Having said that, the uniformity of the prose style in dissertations is famous for sending most people to sleep, which might explain why most chairs in libraries, are designed to keep you awake, being hard on the back and the bum.

On entering the bedroom, I discovered two aliens asleep with Simon, who was still dead-oh. I ended up sleeping in Trish's bed until they found me about an hour later. Then I was almost dragged out and breakfast was requested--and that was just Simon.

Later on I asked Trish if she was less worried about her forgetfulness to which she replied, I think without any sense of irony, though with Trish I'm never quite sure, that she had completely forgotten about it. Soon I'd forgotten about it as well as the duties of the matriarch of the family interrupted and I was too busy to think about anything other than the task in hand, including rereading the dissertation.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3236 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

During the next week I marked the dissertation I'd been trying to read and felt the author deserved the mark I'd given it. It was clearly worthy of a PhD, however these days it also has to go through our anti-plagiarism software. Practically everything we mark nowadays has to pass through it and if it throws up two papers of any sort with very similar wording, then an enquiry may be held. Occasionally, collaboration is required by one or more students but those are relatively rare and there is a protocol for those. Something I don't miss is marking exams or coursework submissions, they are a real pain but it's important that we measure progress in our students or tell them to pull their fingers out.

I noticed that we had another bank holiday approaching, in the old days I looked forward to them because it gave me another day to be with my family, nowadays it usually means I've brought work home to do instead of going into the office. Very occasionally, I have actually gone into the office for some peace and quiet.

The girls are mostly able to amuse themselves these days and only require minimal supervision to make sure they're not dissecting the cat or seeing how much they can inflate a spaniel with the compressor--all in the name of scientific enquiry, naturally.

They once tried to discover if goldfish could live in salt water by adding a bag of kitchen salt to Tom's fish pond. The fish couldn't and all died, which was when Meems came and told me what was going on. I had to pump out the pond, bury the bodies and refill the pond with fresh goldfish before Tom came home. I played hell with Trish, who was the main instigator, who justified her experiment as moving the knowledge base forward.

I asked her where she was going to publish, bearing in mind her grandfather would probably see it and not be too pleased. She told me that I could write it up for her as my spelling was better but she wanted to listed as the main author and she thought Nature may be interested.

My response was not exactly conducive to her plans and the suggestion that the RSPCA may be more interested than Nature in someone torturing fish to see what happened.

"But it's what Newton would have done--it's empirical."

"Newton was a physicist and mathematician, not a biologist."

"He worked on apples."

"Only as part of his lunch."

"What about gravity?"

"It's possibly a myth that he was inspired to investigate what caused an object to fall to the ground after seeing an apple fall."

"I thought it hit him on the head."

"If that had happened, he wouldn't have seen it fall, would he?"

"He mighta done, looked up as it hit him."

"He may have done many things but I think the story that an apple fell on him isn't one of them."

"But you don't know for certain, do you?"

"Trish, no one knows for certain as it's so long ago. But probability shows it's most unlikely."

"We'll see about that," she turned and stamped off to do her own calculations. However, two hours later she came back and sullenly announced, "I hate it when you get the maths right."

"Meaning?" I'd forgotten about our earlier discussion as I was getting the dinner because David had a couple of days off.

"Newton probably wasn't hit on the head by the apple."

"Ah," now it made sense.

"It would more likely have hit shoulder or back."

"Or his hat--don't forget they all wore hats in those days."

"Why?"

"Stop apples falling on their heads," quipped Livvie walking past.

After that the discussion descended into silliness and they walked around in dizzy circles trying to pretend they'd been hit by an earthbound piece of fruit. A pommet no doubt.

Somehow, the weather hadn't noticed we were heading to a holiday weekend because in the south of the country it was forecast to be hot and sunny, with temperatures possibly warmer than Rome; which I suppose would be irritating if you'd just gone there for a holiday from the South of England or Wales.

Being a bank holiday, Simon would be home from the Friday evening, to either Monday afternoon or evening or Tuesday morning. I hoped it was the latter as we seem some weeks to be ships that pass in the night--actually that's incorrect, because we sometimes don't pass each other at any time if he's up in town and I'm here in the backwaters of civilisation.

I checked my diary. We have exams coming up and everyone helps with invigilation including me. It is so boring, it probably is worse than sitting the exam, but we have to do it. Cheating is on the increase, it even said so in the press recently, which does two things: it shows lack of respect by the student for the university and also it shows contempt for their fellow students who aren't cheating.

Cheating happens in all forms of assessment, essays, research submissions, exams and coursework. Much of it is copying someone else's work from the internet, buying in an essay from the net, or from a previous student. Then there is the ingenious use of technology, smart phones or watches, calculators which have been reprogrammed to become mini computers or transmitters/receivers. If they're that clever, why do they need to cheat?

The consequences are immediate and final. The student is expelled from the exam or course and from the university. There is an appeals process but unless they're even cleverer than they were in their fraud, the verdict stands and they are in the old vernacular, 'sent down'. These days, it's understandable that students are worried about paying off loans to pay for their education, but if they are expelled, they'd still be liable for fees and the loans they took out to pay them. So altogether, it's a huge risk to take, plus you would know at the end of the day that you were a cheat and you can't fool yourself.

I like to think that none of my girls would do that, cheat, because I've tried to instil a sense of honour in them, which occasionally has rebounded on me because they considered I told a lie about something and they were all suitably unimpressed or disappointed in their mother, who has to be angelic at all times--yeah, right.

Simon told me the other week that the bank had sacked someone who claimed to have passed some exam or other required for a particular level of job, and they found he'd forged the certificate or diploma, whichever it was, and he was disciplined and shown the door. Apparently, they have a small department which does random checks on the qualifications staff claim to possess and they publish their results in the internal newsletter, so banks staff in High Street Banks, know that it isn't worth it to cheat because they could be caught out at any time by the random checks that are done.

I actually approve of it and seeing as we have been caught out with so called qualified lecturers, have introduced a similar system to our department which the university is looking to implement across the whole faculty.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3237 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

Having dropped the offspring at school I moseyed into the office hoping to finish the raft of paperwork that filled much of it but was greeted by Diane who reminded me I was invigilation duties that morning. I had a cuppa while I scooped up a pile of the dead tree remnants and then strolled over to the main hall, which was apparently where I was to do my stint.

Did I tell you I hate invigilation? Well, just in case I didn't, I'm saying it now. I hate invigilation. I didn't count the number of small tables up and down the room but it seemed like hundreds. I mean they had about twenty of them across the width. I counted them, there was twenty-four and at least twenty-five down the length.

Staff were putting out labels on desks. You are allocated a table and you sit there until you finish--which was likely to be before I completed my paperwork--lucky blighters they are. In the middle of the room is a big clock on a table to show everyone how long there is to go. The exam today is three hours so it will show that time. It doesn't run on BST or Greenwich time, it just counts down the three or however many hours the exam lasts.

A group of students hung around talking at each of the doors, a few more minutes and they can be let in. It's too late now to fret or worry, you either know the material or you don't, although the trick is being able to recall it and be able to write it on an exam booklet--we use booklets which have the questions printed in them and sufficient space to answer the questions. There are blank ones for those who need them, but that only happens if someone has very big writing or has to rewrite an essay, as none of them are longer than fifteen hundred words. If they put a line through anything, it won't be marked and if they repeat an answer, the second one won't be marked.

There will be five invigilators today, some we bring in just for that service, but there is always a member of the teaching staff present in case there is some sort of query the contracted staff can't answer, and there usually is. Most of the time it's a typo in a question or a word missing--and these papers are supposed to be proofed before they go to the printers.

We did have one case where the student had a parent who worked at the printers and between them they made quite a few pounds out of selling the papers until we spotted that something was going on and people who shouldn't have passed were doing so. Finally, someone got careless and we discovered the plot. The father lost his job and got a suspended prison sentence for fraud, breach of confidence and theft of intellectual property. The son was sent down and also given a suspended sentence. Since then we do the printing in-house, having bought a large photocopier cum printer which can handle the sort of stuff we do for exams and collate and staple it all together. It's cleverer than one or two undergraduates I've met--mostly business students.

It appeared I was the token teacher on the invigilators. The others settled down and began laying out flasks of coffee and their knitting. I introduced myself to the others and we agreed who would do the walking around and who would sit or stand at the front and watch hawklike over the industrious candidates; talking of which the doors were opened and in they poured all milling around checking for their course and then their own place. We had ten minutes to go before I started the clock countdown. Latecomers were still arriving but basically, most were already seated and itching to start their ordeal and get it over.

I explained how things would happen while the others gave out the exam booklets. No one raised a query and I glanced back at all the bags which had been left behind us at the very front of the hall. Usually, there's one who has forgotten something like a pen or a calculator. That didn't happen today, was it an omen or would there be someone yet who discovered that they needed a ruler or coloured pencils.

I started the clock and told them to start their papers by turning them over and not to forget to write their ID number and course number on the paper. It was printed on the slip of paper on each table. It went very quiet for a short time as they read through the booklets.

We have a protocol in our department for doing exams. Once you've identified your paper, you read through it at least once. You go through the wording of the questions and underline any verbs like describe or explain or calculate. That at least makes sure you have understood what they want you to do and saves time as well as helping to prevent a misreading of the instruction. Then we suggest doing the questions you can answer easily, leaving the others until afterwards because sometimes once you have settled down and the adrenaline has ceased flowing, you may remember more about your weaker questions than you at first thought. The advice is always to write something because that way the marker may find one or two marks for you. If you write nothing, that will be the mark you receive.

Two hours into the exam after I'd had a wander up and down the ranks of scribbling young adults and one or two more mature types, I sat down to do some more paperwork when Diane arrived with a cuppa and a biscuit, the tea being brought in one of those travel cups. It was hot and I thanked her for her hospitality, then asked her to sit in for a moment while I nipped out to the loo--well she'd caused the need earlier.

When I returned we had a situation, as they say. Someone was having a fit, a proper grand mal. I rushed to assist. Poor girl had slipped off her chair and was writhing on the ground much to the consternation of the other students and we staff. There was blood frothing from her mouth and I suspected she'd bitten her tongue, hopefully not too badly. Then she lay still and someone helped her to sit up, whereupon she was sick. I sent Diane off to get some of the cleaning staff to come and sort it.

A university student health nurse arrived and assessed her patient who was by now able to stand and walk on unsteady legs back with her to the clinic. I removed her paper and wrote a note on it. She would be given another chance to sit the exam as her retirement from the exam was not of her choosing or fault--medical emergencies happen.

The spot was cleaned very efficiently by a couple of the janitors and things calmed down. We estimated the disruption had taken ten minutes. I therefore announced we would add ten minutes to the exam time which was received with several groans. The gratitude of the young sometimes is overwhelming.

How went your day?

The Sporadic Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3238 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

Most of the staff love it when the students have gone, which was the case now. Sadly those of us employed by the university have to work and don't get the same holidays as the students do. There's exam papers to mark, preparation for next term regarding the syllabi, liaison with UCCAS - the clearing agency for unplaced students, if we run full courses we stay in the black and it seems money is all education is about these days, we're a business. I try to think back to my own student days and things were better in that regard, Sussex University was still interested in educating its charges, but since the government stopped student grants and changed them to student loans, and also stopped paying the fees, it has all gone crazy.

I can understand the short sighted tax payer agreeing with the new system, why should they pay for all these youngsters to idle three years or more away. It's odd that they don't seem to associate this as possibly being a cause of the shortage of doctors and nurses when they want one. Effectively, graduates tend to earn more money than those who didn't do uni, so they repay any debt to society in the taxes they cop for when they do manage to get decent jobs. Sadly, it won't be the case for everyone and I agree that some degrees are more useful than others, but then presumably some of those with media studies qualifications go on to make television and radio programmes not just watch them.

As the problems with global climate change worsen, we'll need all sorts of scientists to try and understand and possibly ameliorate what is happening, some of which will be biologists and ecologists; so I justify my own existence here on those grounds.

To Diane, I'm just someone who dictates meaningless letters which she types and I sign and she then despatches via Royal Mail or carrier pigeon, whichever is quicker, probably the latter. However, this morning I was perusing the new books that the staff have ordered. The prices make your eyes water and how the library copes, I hate to think.

High Street Bank does run a charitable fund for cash strapped students to rent books for the term or year rather than buying them, a deposit is taken and returned depending upon the condition of the book. I've been shown some which look like they were dropped in a slurry pit while others look as if they were never opened, which is quite possible and judging by some of the coursework marks, looks very likely.
My time at university as an undergraduate was, as I've said before, rather strange with half my peers thinking I was an effeminate boy and the others thinking I was a girl pretending to be a boy. But I whiled away three years dissecting things, making microscope slides for other students and passing exams. My social life was practically zilch and I had few friends. Given I'm now who I feel myself to be, sort of living the dream, I should have more friends but I find that I still only have a few possibly because my work and family supply most of the social contact I need and I never actually learned how to make many friends, spending my time trying to avoid being sussed for what I really was which also made me something of a loner, sort of content with my own company, solitary but not lonely--most of the time.

Why am I thinking about this? Well tonight I do have to go out with Simon to a fund raising dinner for St Claire's. Apparently their library needs refurbishment and this is part of their fund raising scheme. Guess who has to sing for their supper as well as pay for it? Yeah, me. So once I've finished my coffee break and perusing these tomes, I have to write some ideas down to bore the pants off a pile of parents who equally won't want to be there. I did suggest to Sister Maria that she might like to offer a different option next time, that for an increased fee, they could opt out of the whole thing. I know I'd pay for it instead of having to find something to wear as well as do the speech thing.

What will I talk about? God knows. I'll probably start with why the need for books of all sorts is still important for school libraries. That children learn from all sorts of sources but those who have acquired the reading habit, have not just another source of information, but another dimension, another world to mine for data and for enjoyment. When you have a good book, you also have a good friend.

I've been reading a book by Professor Steve Jones from London University, called The Single Helix. Initially I thought it was a book about genetics, which is his field, especially those of snails, but it's not; it's a collection of short essays, a hundred to be exact, about various elements of science and written with a sense of humour--though he does save some scorn for creationists, which I agree with. I've also been reading Richard Dawkins, The Greatest Show on Earth, which is the evidence for evolution, written in response to requests from readers of his previous books. His contempt of those who deny the science of evolution for religious reasons is well known. He labours the point that grumbling about missing links and why don't monkeys have human babies if we're descended from them, shows a wilful disregard for the evidence and principles of evolution and that of the scientific measurement of the age of the universe and the earth in particular.

He actually explains very well how physics and chemistry have cracked the way elements form by half lives and the use of isotopes to demonstrate the age of rocks and also life forms--carbon being the main one involved in the latter, but they can also tell us where something is from and to some extent how it lived.

Evolution is a fact proven by genetics and assisted by the fossil record. We have so much information now compared to Darwin's time although he was a part contemporary of Mendel, he appeared to have never heard about the monk's experiments with peas and his conclusions. Given that we treat this sort of thing as everyday knowledge nowadays, we forget just how difficult it must have been for people like Darwin and even the revolutionary ideas of Einstein in their lifetimes, to gain acceptance for them. In fact it's still difficult if you have a really revolutionary idea which challenges the conventions of science or politics or even society.

I've been reading articles in the Guardian and the i newspaper about the government's consultation on updating the Gender Recognition Act. Some of the ideas seem helpful, some perhaps help less recognised groups and some seem off the wall.

Does it worry me? If I try to be more acceptant of those who don't fit into a binary system, it's sometimes uncomfortable because it's beyond my experience but then, I can't throw stones because not so long ago, I was grateful when society enabled me to be myself, which would have been outside most of their experience. I don't think I'll be talking about that at the dinner tonight.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3239 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

The dinner at the school went down well enough but I was very glad to get home to bed and disappointed Simon as I zonked as soon as my head hit the pillow. The next day was Saturday, which meant at least we were all home for the weekend and it was nice waking up with his smiling face next to mine.

Actually the smile soon turned to a grimace as he leapt out of bed shouting about cramp in his f*%$ing leg. I couldn't lie there and watch suppressing a laugh made me need to go for a wee. By the time I was back, he'd regained control of his temper and leg and we had a cuddle. It was only seven o'clock and who knows what may have happened had the phone not rung.

"Who the hell is that?" grumbled my hubby back in grumpy mode.

"I'll know when I answer it, won't I? Hello?"

It was my dad's old neighbour from Bristol, Margaret Soames. "Hello, Cathy, sorry to call so early, but I saw blue lights flashing and when I looked out, there's a police car parked outside your house and two coppers are walking round the garden."

"Oh," was all my huge vocabulary could muster.

"If Gregg was here I could have sent him over to find out what's happening, but since he died, I feel safer staying indoors and watching from afar."

"No that's fine, Margaret, I'll come straight up and see what's happening. If they come into you tell them to ring me."

"I will. If you do come up, pop in and see me, won't you?"

"Of course." We finished the call.

"So what's all that about?"

"The police are outside my dad's old house."

"Outside as in parked in the road or outside as in walking about the garden?"

"The latter."

"Oh, not so good, can't you try ringing them rather than driving all the way up there?"

"I need to check on the place anyway, it's been months since I last went there."

"Want me to come?"

"I'd love you to but I think the girls need to spend time with one of us, so d'you mind spoiling them a little?"

"Providing they don't take too much advantage of me."

"Give Julie ring and see if she has time to give them a haircut."

"Won't she be busy on a Saturday?"

"Probably, if not get her to come home and do it, David's cooking usually attracts her."

"Okay--where you going?"

"Shower, sorry, darling." I pecked him on the cheek and avoided his attempts to grab me, running into the shower.

"I've woken Trish," said Simon's voice as I towelled myself down in the shower.

"What for?"

"Thought you may need some back up."

I didn't discuss it any further partly because he left the bathroom and when I returned to dress, he wasn't in the bedroom either. I found him a few minutes later in the kitchen making a pot of tea, Sherlock Watts was sitting at the table eating her breakfast.

"This is exciting, isn't it, Mummy?"

"It will probably be a false alarm and we'll end up sorting through two tons of circulars if we can open the front door."

"I don't know why you don't get the mail transferred here," said Simon passing me a mug of the magical fluid.

"All the bills are done by direct debit, so there isn't anything much to send on here."

"Oh well, have something to eat before you go, or I won't let you go out to play with Trish again."

Trish giggled and nearly choked on her cereal. I gave him a glower and he retreated back upstairs.

"Woss goin' on?" yawned Livvie as she came into the kitchen.

"Me an' Mum's goin' up t' Bristol, the police are at her house."

"Wow, canicometoo?"

"Go and get washed and dressed quickly then," I said firmly as Livvie is prone to dither. I told Trish to pour her some cereal while I made myself some toast.

It was half an hour before we managed to leave and we had quite a party waving us off, as if we were going for weeks not a few hours. In a short time, we were on the motorway and I suspected the Jaguar was going to enjoy the drive more than I was as I'd only done short journeys for the past couple of months and this jaunt up the motorway would clean the moisture out of the engine.

In the back of the car the two girls were winding themselves up to catching public enemy number one, who they were sure was hiding in the house and would need their combined genius to apprehend. I did try to point out that it was more likely an alarm malfunction due to the excessive heat of the past two months.

The house alarm is a silent one but it links into the local police headquarters which is probably why they came out to look at the house. They do have a code to reset it which they can do via the telephone--yeah all very clever stuff.

I listened to Classic fm on the drive, finding the music more soothing than the idiotic conversation of the two tweenies on the back seat and despite the odd bit of traffic congestion, we were in Bristol by ten and the house shortly after that. I noticed Margaret watching from the window and waved to her, she waved back.

The two girls trotted round the rear of the house to check for signs of where their fantasy villain had achieved entry. I opened the front door, switched off the alarm and began picking up enough waste paper to fill the recycling bin. When I'd picked up the tenth flyer for Abdul's kebab house I began to wonder if the postman just shoves a handful through everyone's letterbox instead of one per household. There were a few letters which were actually addressed to me and one to my dad, which was handwritten, or the envelope was.

The girls returned disappointed that Jack the Ripper hadn't forced any of the windows. However, they helped me pick up the junk mail and dump it in the recycling bin.

While we were doing a quick check of the rest of the house, the doorbell rang and Trish dashed down to answer it. I heard voices and moments later she ran back up to us to say the Margaret had invited us over for a cuppa when we were finished.

Nothing seemed amiss and all the windows were properly closed and so on as we shut up the house and headed down to Margaret's. Her house had practically been rebuilt after the fire which if you recall involved Simon and me working with some other neighbours to rescue Margaret and Gregg. It was certainly looking well cared for, as was her garden, compared to mine which was tidy but shrivelled. I pay someone to cut the grass and keep the garden tidy but he doesn't come to water it and we're in the middle of a two-month drought.

Margaret made a fuss of the girls and she and I chatted over a cuppa and slice of cake. She told me about how Gregg had developed Alzheimer's after the fire and had spent the last two years in a home as she could no longer manage him. He kept wandering off, sometimes half-dressed, sometimes undressed. She considered his death a merciful release, I didn't disagree.

During the chat my mobile rang, it was the Avon and Somerset Police telling me that they'd responded to my house alarm but had found nothing remiss so just reset it. I told them that a neighbour had told me of their visit and I'd been up to check the house myself and could agree with them. I thanked them for their assistance and finished my cake and cuppa.

"If I go to Bristol uni, can I stay at your house, Mummy?" asked Livvie out of the blue and right in the middle of Vaughan-Williams Fantasia on a theme by Thomas Tallis, a particular favourite of mine.

"We'll have to see nearer the time, young lady," I said avoiding a direct answer.

"Maybe, I'll go to Bristol too," suggested Trish. I didn't remind her that she'd already spoken about Cambridge, Oxford and London universities and that Oxford and Cambridge were particularly interested in her.

I turned up the radio and avoided dealing with the matter now especially as the traffic was increasing and its driving skills inversely proportioned.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0U6sWqfrnTs Fantasia on a theme by Thomas Tallis.

The Occasional Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3240 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

It was evening by the time we returned home after our jaunt to Bristol. Simon suggested getting some CCTV linked to the internet so dashing up there wouldn't be so important and we could look inside and outside without leaving home.

"So anyone living there would be on TV."

"On TV?" he repeated back to me.

"Yes, anyone staying there with cameras inside the house would appear on them. So would we have cameras in the bedrooms and bathroom?"

"No I just meant the hallway and landings and outside."

"Outside perhaps, but not inside, that's like Big Brother."

"Orwell or the reality TV show?"

"Does it matter, it's just so invasive."

"And breaking into your dad's house isn't?"

He had a point but I still felt repulsed by the idea of cameras inside the house, it would be like some institution not a home. However, he'd ordered pizza for everyone but me, I did myself a cheesy jacket potato, well we'd had tuna for lunch. After clearing up the mess, and while Trish and Livvie regaled everyone with tales of derring do as they checked out my house, I escaped to my study and pulled the letters I brought back with me, out of my bag.

Mostly they were enquiries about if I'd like to sell or change my broadband or electricity supplier or similar. Then I came to the handwritten envelope addressed to my dad. It looked like a woman's hand. With the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, I took the paper knife and slit open the top of the envelope, casually noticing the date stamp as being about two days earlier.

"Dear Derek,
It's been so long that you probably won't remember me, 'Lil ol' Carol' from Carter's Building supplies. I know you are married but I've always admired you--even from afar--and as my time is limited I'd like to say goodbye, for old time's sake.
Alas, I have lymphoma which is in the final stages of destroying my body and it would be nice to see you one last time.
I understand if that is out of the question, but I thought it was worth the effort. If you don't come I'll understand.
Farewell,
Carol Longburton."

I glanced at the date presuming this lady was probably long since departed of this life only to remember that it had been sent just a few days before. I recognised the name of the hospice, it was out towards Bath. The difficulty was what should I do?

Just then Simon entered my study, "What are you hiding away in here for?"

"I'm not hiding, just wanted some quiet to deal with the mail from Bristol."

"Oh okay, anything interesting?"

"Nothing except this." I handed him the letter from my father's admirer. He took it and read the short note in its spidery handwriting, but given the poor woman was dying, understandable.

"Blimey, so your old man was having an affair?"

"I doubt it, Mum would have killed him and he wasn't that sort, far too moral."

"Yeah, but not moral enough not to try and beat his daughter to death."

I shrugged, it was something I'd hoped I'd dealt with and certainly didn't wish to pursue. "I wondered if should go and see her."

"What for--your father's bit on the side."

"I doubt it happened in real life just in her mind."

"What, so a fishing expedition to find out, eh?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not, why else should you go, other than curiosity."

"Actually, curiosity is probably the least compelling of my motives."

Simon gasped and then laughed--loudly, the bastard. "You don't expect me to believe that?" When I nodded, he continued, "Seriously?"

"So what other motive could you have?"

"She obviously doesn't know my parents are dead."

"You could write her a letter."

"That would be rather a hard way of doing it."

"Hard, what as in difficult for you, or for her?"

"I can write difficult letters, but depending upon her state, it could be detrimental and I think would be better to come from me face to face."

"Not planning on raising the dead, are we?"

"I don't think I could if I wanted to. I haven't felt any of that stuff near me for a long time."

"Well you do lots for my health, every time I see you it gets my heart pumping..."

"Only because it's all gone to a small part of your body."

"It's not so small now, how about we just lock the door and do it here on the sofa."

"No thank you, perhaps later in bed, but not here--or now."

"Wifey, you are a disappointment."

"So you keep telling me."

"Later then," he went to the door, "just bring a body, I'll do the rest to send you to places of bliss and fulfilment like you have never experienced."

All I could do was to be consumed by a fit of giggles, so over the top was his invitation.

"You mock me, madam."

"No, sir, your pastiche saved me the bother."

"Bah, humbug." He strode off but his echoing chuckle sort of spoiled the apparent indignation, which normally he does so well. Later, he did give a decent attempt to send me to bliss and I won't say I didn't enjoy it, as did he, but I was still thinking about other things and as I went off to sleep, I resolved to go and see this woman if she was still alive.

I explained my situation to Diane the next day and she understood perfectly my desire to meet this woman to break the bad news of my father's death and at the same time tell her that I was sure that had he been able he'd have gone to see her.

I signed the letters she brought me and got on with reading all the junk that was littering my desk finding great satisfaction in consigning much of it to the bin after tearing it to pieces.

Diane appeared with a mug of tea and a biscuit. "She's expecting you after lunch."

Looking up from the mound of paper that still covered my desk, "Who is?"

"Miss Carol Longburton."

I felt myself blushing, "You what?"

"As your secretary I felt it incumbent upon me to make an appointment for you to see this lady before she died because talking to her afterwards may prove somewhat difficult. So I called the hospice, the number was on the top of the letter, and asked if she was well enough to receive a visitor. They said she was and that she'd enjoy seeing you as she didn't get too many of them."

"Where does putting me in difficult situations fall in your job description?"

"If you didn't want to go, you wouldn't have told me, besides the alternative was a meeting with Laughing Arse."

"I don't have anything in my diary for him, I know because it would have a black border to it, like an Edwardian mourning card."

Struggling to suppress a chuckle she retorted, "I told him you were on an errand of mercy visiting an old family friend who was seriously ill and not expected to recover, and thus unable to participate in his latest round of departmental cuts."

Our Vice Chancellor La Fasse, was a nasty, self aggrandising oik and most things would be preferable to a meeting with him, even bearing bad news to a dying old lady. Did I just think that? Oh boy, some choice.

"Can't you phone them and say I'll be there tomorrow, if I can."

"Nuh nuh." She shook her head,"Go and do your duty."

"But I can't killing a Vice Chancellor is against all the protocols of professorship."

"Huh, he doesn't follow protocols, so why not?"

"Seriously? Are you inciting me to acts of violence?"

"Not acts, act--as in one off, boss lady." She nodded at me and winked before disappearing through my office door. Sometimes I wondered who actually ran this department, her or me. I glanced at the clock, it was eleven or just a few minutes past. Too early for lunch but if I went now, I could catch some in a pub on the outskirts of Bath. My body seemed to decide for me and five minutes later I was seating myself behind the wheel of my Jaguar and pressing the starter button. Next stop, the George Inn, Bathampton.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3241 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

I called David on my handsfree and asked him to collect the girls from school, which he was happy to do. I hoped to be back for dinner, as I couldn't think of any reason why I shouldn't save road works or accidents, or the car breaking down. Given that it had been serviced about two weeks ago, that shouldn't happen. I hate to think what it cost but Simon deals with the garage bills.

My drive up to Bathampton was uneventful though I'd forgotten about the toll bridge there, which is privately owned, by a charity I think, anyway, it's a listed building as is the tollhouse attached to it.

I crossed three bridges a little before the actual toll bridge, one over the by-pass, one over the railway line and on over the Kennet and Avon canal. While I waited, on what is literally, a one horse track over the bridge, I googled details of the bridge and discovered it was built in about 1872. I paid the toll, about a pound, and drove into Bathampton and the car park for the George. There were a few cars in there and the pub was quite busy inside but they found me a table and I ordered a soft drink and perused the menu.

I'd forgotten to ask David what he was conjuring up for dinner but as it was only half past twelve, I decided I'd have a proper pub-grub meal and ordered liver and bacon casserole, which came with mashed potato and mixed vegetables. Then I spotted the tuna jacket potato, but it was too late and I suspect my mercury levels are high enough, so continued to sip my pineapple juice and answer some queries that Diane had sent via my phone. I'd just finished the last of these when lunch appeared.

Why is it, that either the phone rings or some other interruption happens when you're on the loo, in the shower or about to eat? I'd just looked over my meal and unwrapped the cutlery from the paper napkin, when a voice assailed me. "Lady Cameron, it is, isn't it?"

I suppose I could have ignored or denied it, but it was Mark Storeman from UWE, that's the University of the West of England, where I have done little jobs from time to time. He sat opposite me and we shook hands, he declared that my meal looked good enough to eat and ordered the same for himself. Any plans I had for a quick bite and departure now looked increasingly unlikely.

"So what brings you up this way?" he asked.

"I'm visiting an old friend of my father's who's in a hospice near here."

"Oh bad luck. I just wondered if you were chasing the job in Bristol."

"Bristol?" my eyebrows involuntarily rose.

"Yeah, Professor of Biology."

"Uh no, I didn't even know it was vacant." I was quite shocked, Steve Harris had been there forever and I expected him to stay there for a similar time. I'd done radio programmes with him on mammals--he's an expert on urban foxes and badgers.

"Yeah, I didn't go for it, don't have enough published to run for it, and let's face it, that's what counts these days, isn't it? Number of published papers. How many have you done these days?"

I had no idea, but it was about one a year, usually co-written with colleague or post grad student, sometimes both or more. We did one on the polyandry of dormouse females and their mixed genetic broods. One female had five young, all by different fathers. Our co-authors were from the University of Munich and they could only match us with a female with four young sired by different dads.

"About twenty five so far, I think but that could be give or take a few either way."

"Not bad, given the mammal atlas took up so much of your time. How's Tom by the way?"

"He's fine, still spends half his life at the university and other in the garden. He loves his vegetable garden."

We continued in this way for about another half an hour and he glanced at his watch and said he had to go. We shook hands again and he rushed off to a meeting or something. If he said I didn't hear him, probably because I wasn't listening. The reason why was the entry of two rather striking people. The woman was in a dress which fitted where it touched and was absent in much of the front where her exposed breasts jiggled as she walked on stilt high stilettos. He was about six feet tall or possibly an inch or two more and had piercing blue eyes under a thick thatch of blond hair and matching beard. He wore a smart two piece dark blue suit but was tieless.

The way the waiters danced attendance was embarrassing but it eventually dawned on me that it was Burke Simmons and his latest wife. He changes them about once a year, I think this was number three or four. Certainly they attracted the attention of the whole place which was fine by me and after finishing my tea, I left, paying as I did so.

"Thank you, Lady Cameron," offered the girl behind the bar as I paid, but her eyes were on the vision in the blue suit and the walking wet dream accompanying him. I was just glad Simon wasn't with me because he'd have ordered a dessert to sit there longer and lust at her. Oh well, good luck to her, can't blame a girl for capitalising her assets and she most certainly was doing that all right.

The wind had risen just a little and I was glad to get back to my car. There was warm weather on the way, but today was a bit cool for June. I drove off towards the hospice and located it within about fifteen minutes. It was nearly two o'clock and I checked my hair in the mirror, refreshed my lipstick and spritzed some Coco.

The hospice was an old house which had been extended and that looked quite recent. I was admitted by a middle-aged woman who told me that Miss Longburton had finished her lunch and was ready to receive visitors. She also asked me not to stay too long as her patient was quite poorly and got very tired. I promised not to overstay my welcome.

Carol Longburton's room had a pleasant aspect, looking across a valley through which wound the River Avon, though I doubt she's be able to see it from her bed. I was introduced to a little wizened old lady who could have been anything from seventy to a hundred, but I suspected she was closer to the former. The cancer had not been kind to her, though at least she hadn't lost her hair, which was thick and as white as snow.

"Miss Longburton, this is Lady Cameron."

"Lady Cameron?" she looked perplexed.

"Derek Watts' daughter," I said before she asked me outright why I was there.

"Oh, couldn't he come himself? I'd so looked forward to seeing him again."

"I'm sure he would if he could but alas he died a few years ago, following a stroke."

"Ah, that's why he didn't answer the phone. I saw your mother's obituary in the paper, but not his."

"It was in there but you may have been away or otherwise occupied."

She shrugged. "I'm sorry he's gone."

"So am I," I added.

"Yes, I'm sure he was a super dad to you, wasn't he?"

I nodded hoping my eyes didn't betray me, if they did she didn't appear to notice.

"So how did Derek's little girl get to become a titled lady?"

"I married the man of my dreams and the title was included in the package."

She chuckled. "I'm glad you came, you have a wicked sense of humour."

"So Simon says, that's my husband."

"Lord Cameron?"

"Yes, his dad is Viscount Stanebury."

"The banker?"

"Yes."

"Goodness, you did well, my girl."

"I like to think that in becoming a professor of biological sciences at Portsmouth University, that I've done quite well in my own right."

"Professor? Goodness, all those titles," she gasped as I handed her one of my business cards. "Lady, professor and doctor." I blushed for a moment. "Poor Derek had none, but I'll bet he was proud of you, I know I would be."

I nodded, blushing furiously.

A carer brought her in a tray of tea and I accepted the offer of one as well. Hers was in a cup with a spout like children use and even then she struggled to drink it until I offered to help her.

"But yours will go cold," she protested but accepted my help, holding my hands in hers as I tipped the cup very gently towards her mouth. When she'd finished she looked at me and said. "You're a special person aren't you?"

"Am I?" I answered non committedly.

"Yes, when I held your hands I felt a strange sort of energy passing into me. At first I wondered what was happening, then I realised why you came."

"I told you, I'm, Derek Watts' daughter."

"But you're something else too, aren't you?"

"I am?" I gasped feeling unsure where this was going.

"Yes, I know I'm going to die and soon, but now I won't be afraid. I was terrified before but you, whoever you really are, have reassured me that I won't be alone. Thank you for coming, but I need to rest now." She closed her eyes and nodded off to sleep and I took my leave before anything was said about my visit.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3242 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

"So are you going back to see her?" asked Diane the next day.

"No, I did my duty and that's it as far as I'm concerned."

"I don't think I'd call visiting a dying woman an act of duty, mercy maybe..." added my secretary.

"Does it matter what it's called--except to a pedant like you," I retorted aware of my blatant hypocrisy.

"Huh, pots and kettles," she huffed dumping my mug of tea down on my desk with more than a little force--enough to cause a wave of tea to spill over the rim of the mug and coat the leather top of my desk--before she left the room still muttering to herself. I chuckled as I dabbed at the puddle of tea with a tissue. Hopefully, acting quickly enough to prevent a mark forming.

"Oh by the way, face ache wants to see you," she said poking her head round my door.

"Really? What time?"

"As soon as you've drunk your tea. Don't ask me what it's about, his secretary didn't say."

I drank my tea but can't say I enjoyed it, not with a meeting with the Vice Chancellor imminent. Have I mentioned I can't stand him? Well I can't, he just makes my flesh creep.

I took a deep breath and knocked on his office door. His room is palatial--they knocked two into one so he could get his ego safely inside. I went in as he called and he looked up from his computer. "Ah Professor, so glad you could come."

"Vice Chancellor," I greeted back but in a monotone. I'm sure he realises I despise him and all he stands for.

He handed me a small sheaf of paper. "I'm reorganising the university, you'll still be head of biological sciences but I'm putting all science under Professor Adams. All the arts and humanities will come under Professor Maude's remit."

"I see. Isn't it usual to discuss this with the university council and go for consultation first?"

"What for? I make those decisions not a bunch of useless academics."

"I think you may find it's a requirement of the university."

"It might have been, but I've suspended the constitution."

"Is that legal?"

"If I say it is, it is. I did, it is, end of... Oh by the way, the income from your department is dropping--see to it."

I left without saying anything, especially goodbye. I strode back to my office and the look on my face meant there were no quips from Diane, just another cup of tea which she brought in as I read through his proposal. It had to be illegal. I knew one way to find out. I took my mobile from my handbag and speed dialled the cavalry. Of course he wasn't there was he, but I left a message on his voice mail. Then after reading La Fasse's document, I sent a copy via fax to the recipient of my call.

The rest of the morning I continued with my normal administration of my department, though at times I felt somewhat distracted by the piece of paper that lay upon my desk. On the very top it said, 'This paper is not to be shared with anyone else. Failure to comply could be seen as breach of contract and result in suspension or dismissal.' I'd just given him grounds to sack me if his rule was correct. Not to worry, I'll spend my 'retirement' in pursuit of him until I'd destroyed him--could be more fun than running a faculty.

I rarely felt that way about anyone. I wasn't even angry, it was a cold blooded thing, about as emotional as pouring bleach down the loo to get rid of a nasty smell. It would have to be done.

Diane brought me back a tuna roll from the refectory and I was half way through it when my mobile chirruped. I answered it while swallowing half a loaf of bread--not one of my better decisions. Once I'd finished coughing, and a sip of water later and I was able to talk.

"Cathy, that paper you sent me is a load of tosh."

"I thought it probably was. What about the threat on the top?"

"Wouldn't stand up in court or anywhere else where the law of the land is enforced."

I was beginning to feel much happier. "So what do I do?"

"He has to call a meeting of the University council, it has to uphold any changes he wants to make. So unless he's somehow managed to pass it at a meeting where you weren't present, which would be dodgy in any case, it's a load of rubbish. I'd try and see if you can contact other council members and stop it before too many people get upset. If you need any help call the bat phone." He rang off rushing off to some case he was prosecuting in the high court.

I called six other faculty heads and asked them to come to my office. They were all on the university council. I also asked them to not tell anyone where they were going. Setting up an insurrection needs a degree of stealth.

They'd all had the same cursory meeting and threatening letter. None had been invited to a council meeting to discuss any of it. I retrieved the papers of governance of the university, which Tom had given me a few years ago when I'd had to take control of the council to remove a previous problematic Vice Chancellor.

We spent an hour going through the rules of the university and nowhere did it say the council could be overruled or ignored. It also informed us that if half a dozen council members deemed it necessary, they could call an extraordinary meeting of the council. I suggested we did just that and I hoped Jason would be available that day. I also asked each one of them to keep this to themselves, surprise wasn't exactly essential but it might help.

Ten minutes after they all left in stormed La Fasse and told me I was suspended for breach of contract. I told him to leave my office and that his document had no legal status.

"You'll regret this," he said in an absolute fury.

"I might but I suspect you will for certain. You aren't worthy of the position you hold, so I'm going to see about removing you."

"Act at your own peril," he spat at me and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Did you manage to video his intrusion?" asked Diane.

"Damn, I forgot, besides aren't you supposed to get people's permission beforehand?"

"Yeah but that only applies to humans not that brute. God, he makes my skin crawl."

It appeared we had something in common.

"What next, boss?"

"We call an extraordinary meeting of the University Council."

"Okay, tell me when and I'll organise it."

"Next week, we need to act quickly before he does something stupid like locking us out."

"Can he do that?"

"No but it won't stop him and it slows us down, so it's the sort of thing he'd do, just to try and derail us."

"How did he know you were plotting?"

"He'd only need to watch the department and see other professorial staff arriving to know what we were up to."

"Oh yeah, hadn't thought of that, what if you'd done a video conference?"

"Not as secure. He'll go round and threaten all the others but hopefully, they'll all give him the same response. Let me know what day we can access the council chamber." This was the large meeting room which is used for several other types of meeting and is sometimes booked for weeks ahead.

"Monday, at nine," Diane shouted though the door. I sent a text to Jason asking to attend in person if he could or send a senior assistant if he couldn't. We needed a legal beagle because I knew that La Fasse would attend with one. I also took the university's code of conduct and practice home with me to keep it safe.

It was going to be an interesting time and as far as I was concerned the future of the university was at stake, certainly the proper conduct of its administration and to some extent its charter. In the UK All universities receive a charter to act as educational charities, which empowers them to award degrees in their own right but also makes them operate within a code of practice or face withdrawal of their charter. If I lost the argument over the supremacy of the university council concerning code of conduct and practice, I would get Jason to question the charter--which would be more than just an act of spite as it would endanger the entire future of the university. Desperate situations sometimes call for desperate actions.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 32423 by Angharad Copyright© 2018 Angharad

---

I didn't really want to involve Tom, he was retired and should have been playing in his vegetable garden with his grandchildren, but he wasn't he was sitting at a dinner table and knew that something was up.

"Are ye gang tae tell me or do I hae tae get ma torture kit oot?"

"You're not seriously going to torture Mummy, are you Gramps?" asked Trish.

"Why, whit's it tae ye?" he fired back at her.

"Can we watch?" she replied deadpan. There were days when I really did wonder about my daughter. Was she joking or was she genuinely wanting to see something she hadn't before and that sense of curiosity overcame any sentiment. She did once want to dissect the cat when she was younger and it took me a while to get her to understand it's an offence and offensive. She couldn't seem to see that you need a home office licence to vivisection any live mammal.

"Aye if ye like," said Tom, "but ainly if ye help me clean up thae blud efterwards."

"Will there be lots?" she asked and he nodded. "Not that keen on blood, Gramps, so I may pass on this one." So saying she withdrew and the others followed her, mainly to chide her either for wanting to watch the session or chickening out over blood. She doesn't much like the sight of it and I agree with her, I don't either and the older I get the more squeamish I become.

We discussed what was going on at the university and at one point I thought Tom was suffering a bout of apoplexy, he went purple and a slight froth appeared at the edges of his mouth. Then he calmed down and sipped the water I passed to him.

"If ainly I wis younger, I'd call him out and break his neck fa' him, thae moron."

"Well sadly you're not and he'd probably break yours, so this is my fight and I'm doing it via the constitution and with Jason's help." We'd had word he could attend on the Monday morning as his case had ended that afternoon, when he successfully prosecuted a woman who had murdered her two little girls because they got in the way of her social life. I hate to think how she could do such a thing but these people who seem to have no value for anything but themselves and no conscience about who they hurt.

Tom seemed to cheer up when he heard Jason was helping me. He even offered to pay something towards his fee, but I said Simon was covering my costs, although he wasn't yet aware of it. Tom gave me an old fashioned look then relaxed. What's the point in being a member of one of the wealthiest families in Europe if you can't spend a few pounds here and there?

Diane sent me an email which detailed the agenda of the meeting of the council and so far we had ten of its members agreeing to attend. Of the science faculty, only Professor Adams had said he wouldn't attend, and suggested that he hadn't given me permission to either. I sent him an email pointing out the error of his ways and also informing him that as the constitution could not be suspended or changed without the agreement of the university council, he had no authority to make such decisions, in fact as head of the science faculty, he did what I told him until the council said otherwise.

He wrote back suggesting I may be in error. I suggested he speak to my legal counsel if he wished to query it. That seemed to satisfy him, or frighten him, I am not sure which and cared even less.

Another of the non-attending members was to be Professor Maude, the other of the VC's heads of super faculties, this time the arts, and he offered no fight, just suggesting our meeting was irrelevant as the Vice Chancellor was running things.

"You can't keep getting rid of them, Cathy, just because you don't see eye to eye with them," was his minor reprimand with which I disagreed. I saw no problem with the motto I had on my desk in work, 'Be reasonable, do it my way.'

I also had one on my desk at home which stated, 'Rule 1: The boss is always right. Rule 2: In the event of any disagreement, rule 1 apples.' At times I did think of changing the sign from 'boss' to 'Trish'. In fact, I was quite surprised someone hadn't already done that.

After our discussion, Tom went off to his study and presumably his tot of whisky what I didn't realise was he was also on the phone to Jason and then to Simon; the latter wasn't expected home until the next day through business commitments--he was part of a business group trying to prevent a no deal Brexit and was meeting with other CEOs and directors. I believed that Henry was also likely to be there.

I once teased him that as a capitalist he should be ready to make a fortune out of it like several members of the government. He went absolutely ape and lectured me for half an hour on the numbers of decent people who would lose their jobs or businesses because of the single mindedness of the current government who cared about nothing but themselves. It seemed we had a surfeit of those types of people at present, including in academia.

The water had barely finished running in the cistern of our en suite, when he rang. I was going to bed to read my book, 'The Emerald Planet,' by David Beerling. I was learning quite a bit about how plants had changed the climate of the earth and enabled the rest of us to evolve. It was also interesting to see how the climate generally controlled itself by the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, not quite as Lovelock suggested in his Gaia theory, but for many millions of years the carbon was controlled by green plants, especially trees assisted by the marine algae which deposits it as carbonates on the sea bed. It's a bit more complicated than that, but it's very interesting. However, they all acknowledge that climate is changing very quickly, faster than it has for at least a million years--as attested by the ice samples from the Antarctic and the amounts of 12C carbon.

"I've told Jason to destroy this idiot in the university," was Simon's opening statement.

"I'm quite capable of telling him myself."

"I know, but if I'm paying the piper, I call the tune."

Suit yourself, I nearly responded but instead thanked him for his support and made a mental note to take it up with Tom at breakfast, I didn't need Simon involved except to sign the cheque at the end. Simon told me that Tom was intending to come to the meeting as well. As a professor emeritus, he was entitled to but only to speak if he was invited to.

After this discussion I asked him how his meeting had gone and he sounded concerned that the dirty tricks brigade were already busy in trying to influence Brexit supporters to ignore the facts which the Remainers were publishing and to believe the unicorns of the government run by the blond bombast. As it had worked last time, I couldn't see them changing their tack, and as no one stopped them, they'd carry on doing what they did before even if it was illegal. It was just nice that the LibDems had taken Brecon from the Tories to make parliamentary life slightly less comfortable for the government and their majority of one in the Commons.

It made life interesting as in the old Chinese curse, which I learned was total rubbish and was invented by someone in the 1960s or 70s. All this time I'd thought I was cursed and instead it was conned.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 32424 by Angharad Copyright© 2019 Angharad

---

The weekend proved to be a bit tense, or perhaps it was just me who was, as the girls annoyed me to distraction and Simon's snoring kept me awake half the night. Jason had sent a whole pile of stuff through by email, in fact he'd had to compress it and it took me a few minutes to remember how to unzip it.

At breakfast I blew up big time and made Trish burst into tears. It was really a storm in a teacup but she'd pushed my buttons, like she does, and I'd successfully launched. Simon gave me a quick talking to, which left me in tears running to hide in my study, while he went off to calm Trish down, although Livvie had already gone to comfort her sister.

Seated in my office I stared at the photo of Danni in her England strip, her proudest moment. Mine was when the FA got funny with her as there'd been another attempt in a tabloid to bring up her past and the powers that be, in an act of great cowardice, suggested she drop out of the international scene for a while. It meant she'd miss the women's world cup and I expected her to be either suicidal or homicidal over it. She wasn't.

Si and I waited for the other shoe to drop and it didn't. When I spoke to her about it a couple of weeks later she told me that she'd proved her point, and when England didn't get to the final, she quietly said, "If they'd played me, they'd have got there and won it."

I beamed at her and told her she was probably right. "Of course I'm right, but that's their loss."

"You seem very calm about it?" I said hoping it wouldn't upset her and provoke the emotions which I was sure were boiling underneath her sedate exterior.

"Mum, ever since I started playing women's soccer I expected it to happen, which it did and we got over it, but I was always dreading the next time. I decided ages ago that when it did, I would quit football."

"But it's your life," I said very taken aback by her maturity.

"No, Mum, you and Dad and my sisters are my life. You've always been there for me, all of you and that is much more important than a short life as a pro athlete. Instead, I'm going to concentrate on my GCSEs and get decent A-levels, so I can go to university and get a job I want to do for the rest of my life, which football would not have done."

I was astonished by this teenager showing such maturity and so proud of her. I told her I would do all I could to help her achieve her goal and that I actually felt she was making the right decision. We had a little cuddle and she went off for a walk while I stayed in my study and sniffed, just like I was now.

Simon came in with Trish and we hugged and sniffed together. "Can't you go and torment some dormice or something?" he said tersely.

"That would be nice, can I come too, Mummy?" Trish sniffed clinging on to me.

"I suppose I could give Paul a ring and see if there's anywhere he's short of surveyors."

"Here," said Simon handing me the phone and leaving the room.

Paul Green runs all the dormouse surveys for the local wildlife trust and I helped him get his licence and set up the system they use. I thought it was better than talking with the university dormouse team, which again I set up several years ago but now am several levels higher up the food chain, too many in fact, so I have little if any contact with them these days. It was something I'd change if ever I left the university.

"Cathy, how lovely to hear from you," which was code for what do you want?"

"I have an urge to see a few dormice."

"What now?"

"Actually, yes." I began to think this might be harder than I first considered.

"You still have a licence?"

"Yes, of course I do." That is more precious than almost any other official piece of paper, only it isn't one piece it's about six pages of A4 telling you what you can't do, rather than what you can--Natural England have a strange way of doing things.

"In that case, I do have a site that we've rather neglected if you're interested."

"Neglected?"

"Yeah, we've had no one look at it for at least a year."

"Boxes or tubes?"

"Some of each."

"Okay, where is it?"

He gave me directions and I knew pretty well where it was. He assured me that all of the tubes and next boxes were marked with biodegradable tape, which was the system I helped him set up. It was red, the tape, that is, which should be okay unless you're red-green colour blind or suffer from deuteranopia, which is sexed linked and found in 6% of males.

An hour later, Danni, Trish, Livvie and I were changed and off in the car to find Hangman's Wood. With Trish doing the directions, instead of Danni, it only took us twice as long as it should have to get there but we did eventually roll up and park behind an old Land Rover.

"If I do ecology, will you get me an old Landie, like that?" asked Danni as I shut off the engine.

"Ugh," said Livvie, "I'd much prefer a Range Rover if I had to drive a four wheeled wotsit."

"I thought you wanted a Porsche, Dan?" queried Trish of her older sister.

"Yeah, that was when I was playing soccer, I've grown up a bit since and a Landie is more utilitarian."

"Always get a Cayenne," suggested Livvie.

"Mum had one of those, nah, I fancy a Landie."

It would be cheaper than the Porsche except to the environment if it spewed as much in the way of black smoke as Tom's old one had done. What did he call it? Aggie I think.

I checked we had all the stuff we'd need, including a notebook and pencil, a small bag for weighing any dormice we caught, plus a big bag for using to get them out of the boxes or tubes, my 50g spring balance, some hand-wipes, some spare wire and wire cutters, a pair of secateurs and a camera. I also carry a multitool thing which is like a large scale Swiss Army knife and all the girls had a bottle of water and an old sock to use as a bung to prevent escapees as we examined the boxes or tubes.

As we wandered into the woodland I felt the tension, which had built up over the past few days, evaporating and I was assailed with a sense of nostalgia--yeah I know, there's no future in it--but it felt like old times, times when life was simpler and full of dormice, the world's most wonderful rodent.

I'd trained the girls sufficiently to know to keep quiet while in woodland because you see and hear more things, like bird song and the singers, or occasional small mammals and even the odd larger one. As we walked we listened to a robin's melancholy trill and the rather tuneless call of a chaffinch plus the sound of digging.

Digging is not a sound you expect to hear on a Sunday in a nature reserve. It was definitely the sound of a spade cutting soil. I motioned the girls to hide and I crept forward to see what was happening. About fifty yards deeper into the woods were three men and two of them were digging and by the look of it, the holes they were standing in weren't the first as there were half a dozen others littering the area around them.

"I tell you there's none 'ere," said one of the rather red faced excavators.

"They's gorra be, keep diggin'," said the man who appeared to be in charge.

I crept back to the girls and motioned them to retreat back to the car. Once there I called Paul while Trish photographed the Land Rover.

"Finished already?" He said answering the phone.

"Uh not quite, we haven't started yet."

"So why the call?"

"Paul, is there any reason why a group of men should be digging up your reserve?"

He laughed then realised I wasn't. "Digging up the reserve?"

"Yes, there are three men with spades digging holes." As I spoke a rather large dog in the LandRover began to bark at us.

"Have they got dogs?"

"There's one in the car which we presume is theirs."

The penny dropped just as he said, "Badger diggers. Get away, Cathy, I'm calling the police."

Badger digging is an illegal pastime of sadistic miscreants, where any badger caught is put up against a fighting dog, often after being handicapped by having it's jaw broken or one of its legs. These people really are nasty with a capital F. No self respecting dog will corner a badger, it has one of the most powerful bites for its size in the natural world and the black and white stripes are a warning sign to keep away.

However, as I said above, there are people who enjoy pitting their dogs against wild life, often taking cats for the dogs to kill as a warm up--these people really are horrible.

Back inside the car we pulled back up the track and under some trees and waited. Some forty minutes later a convoy of police cars and one from the wildlife trust poured onto the track and pulled up right behind the Land Rover. I slipped out of my car and explained what we'd seen. One of the coppers knew the car and the dog and mentioned a name, there were a few nods. I was asked to leave the area to protect the children from being involved or from seeing what might be ugly or distressing scenes. I agreed and although two of the three were disgusted not to see the action, I drove us home via cafe where they do rather nice ice creams and honour was satisfied.

"D'you think we saved any badgers, Mum?" asked Danni.

"I have no idea, but if they go down for a bit, we may have saved several plus some dogs from horrendous injuries."

"Like what?"

"A badger can bite the face off a dog," I said gravely.

"Yuck, are all men bastards?" she asked.

"Of course not, but neither are they all as nice as Daddy or Gramps."

"Or all ladies as nice as you, Mummy," chucked in Trish who then trotted off chuckling to herself.

"Why didn't they do it at night?" asked Livvie, "No one would see them then?"

"They may have been looking to run the fight tonight."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that."

"You're back early," said Simon laying down The Observer.

"It was like this..." I began.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3245 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

The badger diggers we'd seen were prosecuted but only got a few months imprisonment between them. It seems wildlife still has little value to the legal system, sometimes I think education is equally rated.

You might recall I was having a little local difficulty with a certain Vice Chancellor who thought he could ride roughshod over everyone else by using illegal and antisocial means. He tried to suspend the university constitution for goodness sake, so somebody had to stop him. You can guess to whom that little job fell.

I'd called an extraordinary meeting of the university council for the next Monday, supported by nine other members. My reason, the VC was acting unconstitutionally by not adhering to the constitution as he had by-passed the council to try and get his way. I'd arranged for my barrister, Jason White QC to attend and had sent him full copies of the constitution, the university charter and code of practice as submitted to the charity commission. My argument was that the VC was in breach of all these codes, which meant we were operating outside the charter which would make any degrees or other qualifications we offered, null and void - which would be pretty devastating for any university, sort of nullifying their primary purpose.

So the stakes were high as far as I was concerned and could effectively destroy our institution and create havoc and distress to the twenty five thousand odd students we had, who are depending upon us to educate them and recognise that education with various qualifications, such as bachelor's, master's or doctoral degrees. It could also be argued, the rest of our remit was to achieve a place of educational excellence by research and development, which is part of my job and which I take seriously. Something that won't be mentioned, is good value for money to the students who indebt themselves for large amounts of money over their academic careers and which I feel we should try to respect - sadly not everyone agrees with me.

I accept we have to remain solvent in a financial sense but all these things have to be balanced and not at the disadvantage of any one of them. It's not easy in today's financial climate of austerity but if universities can't think of solutions, who can? Governments certainly can't as has been shown in much of the world, especially when we have autocrats running many of them, who have their own agendas which are rarely to the benefit of their countrymen. Hopefully history will show them up for the monsters they really are without a major war being necessary to unseat them.

The Monday morning arrived and I dressed up for the occasion wearing a red suit styled by one of the Beatles' kids. I wore it to show that I was up for a fight. Tom arrived in his best suit and although he was an observer, he was there to support me and the university against the damage we felt La Fass the VC was intent on creating. Jason arrived early with two assistants, so goodness knows that that was going to cost. They all looked immaculate in their expensive suits. What I hadn't appreciated was one of his 'team' was actually a lawyer from the Charity Commission.

La Fass turned up with his legal counsel, a thirty something woman who was heavily made up and wearing a suit I thought was possibly by Armani. She was to open the batting for the enemy but before any of that could happen we had to agree and elect a chair for the proceedings. That took an hour as they had to be impartial. Eventually, a retired judge was rustled up and he agreed to do the honours.

It was cut and thrust stuff of a legal type which is not my forte and although it was exciting, I wished I'd had a crossword to do as much of it was so involved, I lost the thread at times as the minutiae of legal arguments and definitions were argued in fine detail.

The meeting lasted until six which was unheard of. The judge asked everyone of the council to speak, and to my relief everyone agreed with rejecting the Vice Chancellor's high-handedness, as did the lawyer from the Charity Commission who agreed we could have lost our charter if La Fass had succeeded in his revolutionary plot - yes revolutions can be right as well as left wing. The university council voted to suspend the Vice Chancellor, which all the legal beagles, including the judge, agreed. Talk about biter bit. He stormed out of the room and growled threats at us, me in particular, giving me a scowl that would kill ordinary mortals.

The meeting broke up with most people happy at the outcome, I was especially so that one of my ideas, the suspension of Professors Adams and Maude, who'd supported the rapacious La Fass. It was a bit of pettiness for my part, but as Adams had attempted to stop me attending the meeting by suggesting he was my boss, I wanted to make sure he knew not to mess with me again. The next day he and Maude resigned, though it would normally require three months or more notice, I accepted his letter with immediate effect.

The bank paid for our legal expenses and Jason, was I am told, less expensive than usual because he felt the principle he was defending was important in British law. To confirm the supremacy of the university council as the governing body of the university, we went for a judicial review and got it two weeks later. La Fass resigned, claiming constructive dismissal and seeking extensive damages. He went to a tribunal and Jason faced him again and destroyed him and his arguments - he does enjoy his work.

Tom was asked to act up in the post of Vice Chancellor again and he reluctantly agreed but he insisted on having two assistants to deal with the work plus his secretary. The council agreed.

So what of the family? Well it was much of the usual stuff, petty squabbles between the girls, that is, Trish, Livvie and Hannah, who being of a similar age tended to want the same thing at the same time ranging from music discs to clothing and makeup.

Danielle continued playing soccer for Portsmouth ladies until the end of the season and announced her retirement. I wrote a snotty letter to the head of the ladies' sports at the FA accusing them of prejudice and bigotry and received no reply. Amazingly, the Daily Mail, yeah I know, asked what happened to Miss Cameron, the England scoring machine and got a reply from the FA saying she didn't fit the current scheme of play, to which their chief soccer correspondent responded, 'What, a losing one'.

I felt they had betrayed her and their apparent commitment to genuine diversity but no one listens to me, and the only good thing to arise from it all was the dignity, shown by Danni in getting on with her life and giving her schoolwork a renewed effort. I so wanted her to make something of her life because she deserved it. She gave a hundred per cent to anything she did and I felt she'd make her mark whatever she did.

Sammi, our other high achiever, has been allowed by the bank to assist GCHQ at Cheltenham one day per week equivalent. To do so she leads a hand-picked security team at the bank, rated as one of the best in Europe. She actually went to the area and had a look round and has expressed an interest in buying somewhere there, in one of the villages about ten miles away from Cheltenham. She and Simon bought a bigger flat in London selling off his old studio one, so she could become a woman of property - she earns quite a lot so it's a good way of investing it. Henry agrees if she'll let him borrow it when the Gold Cup is being run. Horse racing - yuck, so boring, I'd rather look at woodlice in the stable block.

Julie and Phoebe successfully sued the company who installed their tanning bed which caused the fire. They renovated the building and sold it, preferring the new premises I helped them find after the fire. Their business goes from strength to strength and I'm encouraging Phoebe to think about doing some online learning such as they offer from the Open University. She's still thinking about it.

Mima continues to lisp her way through life but doesn't seem to worry unless she's picked on and seeing as she belted the last girl who insulted her, any who fancy trying it on seem to be a very small number. Sister Marie keeps an eye on them all and apart from the things we do for the school as a family, she sees us as a major investment especially as Cate is now attending their nursery, so that makes five sets of school fees she gets from us - I knew I should have taken shares in the place.

Simon continues support me, most of the time, we do have disagreements, occasionally about the future of the girls, he was irritated that I didn't agree to go to Cambridge as Henry was prepared to sponsor a chair in mammalian ecology, but I still consider Trish to be too young to cope with university. He huffed and puffed saying in his experience it wasn't that bad. I told him that I'd been at university for twelve or more years, so my experience was greater. He went rather red in the face but knew when he was beaten.

Now, my next chore, finding yet another housekeeper and babysitter to watch Lizzie until she goes to nursery. I switched on my computer and started to compile an advert...

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3246 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

I hate recruiting people for any sort of position and so something as potentially risky as a housekeeper cum childminder, which could make us as a family very vulnerable, especially as being relatively wealthy we could be at risk of kidnap or extortion.

I spoke with Stella, who really wanted no part in the process, though she was happy to contribute to the cost of hiring someone providing her kids were included in the duties of whoever we eventually employed. I discussed it all with Si, who agreed to pay the majority of the costs of salary and so on but suggested I use a recruitment agency. That worried me a little, but in the end all I did was write a vague job description including the clause, 'Any other tasks requested by the employer which is considered commensurate with the duties of housekeeper - childminder.'

The next day, I asked Diana to find me an agency or two which she felt could recruit someone of the calibre needed to meet the job description. I dealt with some queries from Daddy's secretary, remember he's acting VC again and by the time I'd finished, Diana had sent off the job description to two agencies after explaining that the security clearance and background checks required for a successful candidate were very stringent. On top of that I'd ask Jim to check up on anyone who was selected.

While all this was going on, the Echo began to ask why Danni was no longer being selected for further England caps, seeing as she was possibly the best player they had. Portsmouth Ladies team issued a statement stating that they couldn't understand it either and the loss of her England selection, had made Danielle give up soccer all together. Of course we know why she was dropped but weren't going to say, and she was still a minor, so the press couldn't ask for a direct interview. The Echo therefore went off at a tangent and blamed it on the management of the national side for being short sighted.

It rumbled on for a few days and we let it fizzle out, though at one point I did think of bringing a lawsuit against the FA for failure to uphold its own code of diversity. In the end, while Jason felt we'd win it, I suspected Danni was so fed up with the whole business, she didn't want any further involvement even to the point where she would study science rather than sports science. I just hoped she wouldn't stop exercising altogether because she was really fit and had a super figure.

I had just collected the 'Famous Five' (Danni, Trish, Livvie, Meems and Cate) from St Claire's Gulag for Good-time Girls, narrowly avoiding being seen by the head warder, Sister Marie as we scampered back to my people carrier. Whenever I hear that term I tend to think of the big things the army have, Warriors or whatever they call them, I'm sure they'd cope well with the rush hour especially with a 30 or 40 mm cannon and a 7mm chain gun. I suppose they may be a bit noisier than out VW. While the usual banter happened behind us, Danni told me the Echo were still trying to find out why she'd been dropped and she felt it was only a matter of time before they found out the real reason. I mentioned it to Jason when we got home and he said he'd remind the FA of their obligations under the data protection act and confidentiality of their staff and players.

Thankfully Danni had changed her surname to Cameron, so hopefully they wouldn't discover her previous name and history. If they did we'd all do what we could to help her. Once again she grumbled about being the victim not the perpetrator and asked why we were treated like criminals just for being different.

I had no answer except the prurient curiosity of some people who perceive others as different. Except we aren't that different unless you examine our breeding equipment internally, which wouldn't take long as we haven't any. Externally, we all look the same as any biological woman or 'people who menstruate' according to Mrs JK Rowling, her of Harry Potter fame.

It's understandable that if all gender variant persons were able to self declare their gender and have it legally recognised, then it could become difficult for women to have safe spaces. I'm not aware than anyone self declaring has actually caused a problem in such spaces, such as toilets, because they usually end up the victim of any such incidents as shown by the beating up of a transsexual woman by two teenage women in the toilets at a fast food restaurant a few years ago which was filmed and went viral on YouTube. So while there may be a potential, history has not borne out any such actual incidents.

These days with social media, the truth is a moveable feast and all sorts of abuse of facts happens from deliberate falsehoods to manipulation of facts to appear opposite to the truth. Anti vaccination groups are one such type of manipulators blaming vaccines for everything from autism to infertility. It's all total hogwash, vaccines are safe for the vast majority of recipients and certainly safer than the disease they are trying to prevent. What is astonishing is that people believe celebrities rather than scientists or medics, some of these z-listers seem to have axes to grind and thus post the most amazing untruths about MMR vaccine or similar, failing to remind their readers that diseases like measles or rubella can be very serious and lead to blindness or even brain damage in susceptible children.

But then that's like trying to convince the transphobic that we are not trying to undermine the women's movement, steal their husbands or anything else, we're just trying to deal with a recognised condition which can cause the sufferer enormous distress and discomfort and which most of us wouldn't wish on their worst enemy. However, in some people being judgemental seems to be a character trait, whereas discernment might be a whole lot more useful.

Danni and I sat in my study and talked while we drank a cuppa. I had no answers for her only the benefit of greater experience, but I reassured her that we, as a family, would stand with her to deal with anything which developed from this resurrection of a matter we considered over. Seems that when you're just the slightest bit different, you become fodder for the media who need a constant supply of victims to dissect and dump afterwards.

We went and changed and she finished her homework while I went to see what David had cooked us for dinner. Being Friday, he'd poached us a whole salmon, I mean he'd cooked it in milk, not he'd stolen it from a river or fish farm. He'd also done duchesse potatoes and a selection of vegetables. For dessert, he had made us a huge apple pie and we had the choice of ice cream or fresh cream to help it down. My tummy growled when I smelt it all and my salivary glands were in full production ready to eat this feast, except we had to wait for Daddy, Si and Sammi. It seemed Phoebe and Julie were working late and would go back to their flat for dinner - good, that left more for me and I was starving.

There were no awkward phone calls or knocks on the door from the Echo or anyone else, though my trail cam in the garden filmed a couple of hedgehogs getting amorous. How do hedgehogs make love? Very carefully. I suspect porcupines are even more careful. It's interesting that neither are related to each other porcupines being rodents in the same order as rats and mice, while hedgehogs are in the order Eulypotyphla which used to be called Insectivora at one time, but not anymore. The new order is a bit of mouthful and I doubt would be very easy to introduce into an ordinary conversation, especially after a couple of drinks. I have enough trouble saying it when sober.

Back to hedgehogs and their mating habits, they really are quite raucous but then my kids reckon that Simon and I could give them a run for their money any day. Quite how I know this would be telling.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3247 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
For my good friend, AG who likes to read this in bed (still no one is perfect!).

After seeing the hedgehogs, I decided to revisit a book I'd got a year or two ago, part of the excellent New Naturalists' series published by William Collins. The book simply termed Hedgehogs by Pat Morris showed a photo of hedgehogs mating. The female flattens her spines to enable the male to mount her and if they are all as well endowed as the male in the photo, I'm glad I'm not a hedgehog - hung like a horse doesn't come close to it. I don't have a fixation with male genitals honestly, but it seems certain species do have record setting genitalia, the yellow necked mouse having a large scrotum, barnacles have the longest penises in direct proportion to their overall size and now we have hedgehog stallions - it's enough to make a girl dizzy.

I'm more familiar with Dr Pat Morris for his dormouse studies, he was one of the original researchers in this country which it appears he only did because he couldn't get funding to do hedgehogs. He's retired now but used to teach at Royal Holloway College which is part of London University and is a regular attendee of dormouse conferences.

Danni came into my study while I was perusing the book and asked me what I was reading. I showed it to her and she asked if she could borrow it. She knows she has to return any of my books once she's finished with them, so I handed it to her. She flicked through it and said, "I think I could get quite interested in hedgehogs, they are quite cuddly, aren't they?"

"That's not the adjective I'd use to describe them, but then I have handled a few of them in my time."

She looked at me wondering what I was on about, then the penny dropped and she gave me an, "Oops, perhaps not that cuddly." This was accompanied by a rather fetching blush and shrug.

"Wotcher doin'?" asked the brain poking her head round the door.

"Talking about hedgehogs, why?" asked Danni.

"Oh, that all?" responded the pygmy genius.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Didn't know you were interested in hedgehogs, seeing as they don't wear designer clothes or makeup or drive expensive motors."

"Well I am, so there. I'm not just into material things ya know."

"Coulda fooled me," Trish retorted and left us with Danni glowing rather red and looking equally irritated.

"One of these days..." said the elder sibling.

"Don't take any notice of her, she's just teasing."

"Yeah I suppose so, but seeing as soccer is finished, or rather I'm finished with soccer, I'm possibly looking into doing something else with my life and I quite like the sort of things you do, Mum, chasing dormice and things. Maybe I'll study animals for a career."

"Well there's loads of options, do a natural science degree, biology, zoology, ecology and so on, or environmental science is another possible path, even veterinary science is possible but that is a long course of study, like medicine."

"Ugh no, they spend half their time putting things to sleep, don't wanna do that; nah, chasing dormice or watching hedgehogs looks like much more fun."

"Well whatever you want to do, just study well and get good exam results and you really then have a better chance to choose where and what you want to study."

"I'm hardly likely to be head hunted by Cambridge like 'our robot', am I?"

"No perhaps not, but then neither was I and I like to think I've done reasonably well for myself."

She put the book down on my desk and hugged me, "Mum, you have done incredibly well for, you know..."

"You know?" I queried.

"Well, you know, being so old and things," she squeezed me and disappeared in an echo of giggles clutching the hedgehog book as she went. Sometimes I wonder about many things but the fun we have as a family, where the children feel safe enough to tease me gently and where I can do the same shows, I hope, that we have a loving environment so may be doing a few things right. Also possibly one of my offspring is interested in following in my footsteps and I suspect that if she gets reasonable A-level grades, that Sussex may be interested in taking her, possibly if I dropped a word in the right place - or is that verging on nepotism? I hope not, and if she got good results, surely that would be the important thing. I decided it was and went off to start getting them ready for bed.

"That girl pleasantly surprises me from time to time," I said sitting with Simon in the lounge and sipping a dry white wine.

"Which one would that be?"

"Danni of course."

"Of course, I mean it's only pick one from ten." He sighed and rolled his eyes - multi-tasking? Or as near as he gets to it.

"Yeah okay, point taken."

"What about her, Danni, that is?"

"She's gone off with my hedgehog book..."

"Want me to get it back from her?"

"No, I loaned it to her because she wanted to read it."

"Oh, what does she want to read that for, it's hardly Cosmo or Vogue, is it?"

"She's having a think about her career options."

"Yeah, but being a hedgehog isn't one of them - is it?" He looked horrified.

"Nah, I can only turn boys into toads."

"Or girls," he said quietly then blushed when I glowered at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean that as it might have sounded."

"How was it meant to sound then?"

"It was just a knee jerk, sorry."

It hurt because I hadn't really turned any of them into anything but nice young women from rough and ready sow's ears. "I will only accept being a factor in Danni's conversion by making her wear female clothing for the month, circumstances did the rest with some help from Pia."

"What happened to her? Our friendly eunuch."

"Si, that is a bit uncalled for."

"Well she's hardly a female like our lot is she?"

He had a point but I did see that night she came to see Danni and she looked a bit more presentable, though what sort of surgery could be done to create some sort of facsimile to a female pudenda, I hate to think. I'm sure something could be done but that isn't my problem, I have enough of my own without worrying about other people's kids.

"I think she's trying a bit harder to appear female these days."

"How d'you know that?"

"Danni has met up with her sister, Carly, occasionally."

"Not sure I feel happy with ours having any sort of contact with their family."

"Come off it, Si, you can't penalise a sister for what her brother did, she wasn't involved, was she? Talk about give a dog a bad name..."

"Oh, all right," he conceded and poured himself some more wine. I declined his offer of another glass, I'd have to get up in the night if I did. My bladder isn't what it was and I suspect the slight repositioning during surgery doesn't help. "Just don't let them get us involved with that little weirdo."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well you're an innate do-gooder." He offered me and I wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a criticism. "The good Samaritan would look like a miser compared to you."

"Very funny, not." I replied. "To start with the Good Samaritan was a parable, a story or allegory, I'm real."

"Yeah, I was using it as an allegory."

"Oh well that's okay then."

"Why what difference does it make?"

"None I suppose but you're always describing me in far better terms than I deserve."

"So does a certain paediatric consultant, who thinks you really are an angel."

"I think he just likes to keep me on side in case I have to raise one of his failures, you know what they say, good doctors don't bury their mistakes - they send for me."

Simon chuckled and finished his wine but I persuaded him not to finish the bottle suggesting he leave it for David to cook with tomorrow. Sometimes he's hard work to train but tonight he seemed in a mellow mood. Now all I needed to do was find out why.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3248 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
For RL/D who enjoys my nonsense, I hope he feels better soon.

Simon's good humour was due to England winning a test match and him winning some money as a consequence. I suspect he loses more than he wins but what he does with his money is his affair. I'd just ordered a book on trilobites, these were like marine woodlice about three hundred million years ago and came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. I'd been in love with them since I was a kid and I've been hooked on fossils ever since, I even have one or two in my study but not the monsters that have occurred in other climes. The largest found so far was from Manitoba Isotelus rex at 720 mm while one of the largest from the UK was a specimen of Paradoxides davidis which was found in 1862 near St Davids in Pembrokeshire and which measured over 500 mm. This species comes from the mid-Cambrian some 500 million years ago and it's astonishing how life suddenly took off in the Pre-Cambrian possibly because there was enough oxygen in the atmosphere to support more complex and active forms. Much of this oxygen was provided by simple algae and cyanobacteria rather than land plants as many of these had barely developed.

Fossils are the original way of dating rocks and they still are used in the field for this, so if you have certain trilobites or ammonites you know the rough age of the rocks you're examining. It also showed geologists that the continents had changed both in position and attachments. Again we know about tectonic plates and how they move, but this fairly recent and not proven until after the 1970s, when theories about the formation of oceans also were understood. The next new ocean will apparently be in the Great Rift Valley in Africa as the ground splits apart and the sea rolls in which is what happened with the formation of the Atlantic ocean, meaning that the small continent of Avalonia was rent asunder to form it with North America forming on one side and the British Isles and Europe on the other. Scotland apparently joining what is now England and Wales, showing that the Earth wanted it to be part of the United Kingdom, even if Nicola Sturgeon doesn't.

So until radio-dating of rocks became possible, approximate dates were made by geologists using field observation of stratification and position of fossils to make estimates of the age of the earth. This led to a few mistakes and where you have complex rock formations with folding and tilting of rocks it led to great disagreements between scientists, where the only certainty is the bigger the reputation the bigger the ego underneath it. No change there then, and as my reputation isn't enormous, it doesn't bother me - well unless someone disagrees with a pet theory...

I remember trying to explain to my girls about fossils, how they were dead organisms that had been turned to stone by petrification and that trilobites had become extinct over 250 million years ago before the dinosaurs had evolved in an earlier mass extinction event at the end of the Permian. They of course were aware of stories or mythologies where things or people had been turned to stone, usually by gods or angry Gorgons, usually females are the victims because they danced on the sabbath or some such nonsense, or were a coven of witches and so on. These days we know it's all nonsense but it seems that there is an underlying misogyny beneath almost all myths or histories and I don't understand why, except we know many of them originated during periods when humans worshipped sky-gods and men were in charge and nearly all religions are controlled by men who don't want women to rock their boats and essentially demonstrates a profound fear of the female, especially female sexuality.

There was a fascinating cartoon in the Guardian recently demonstrating an article from a book by a woman comic about benevolent sexism* holding women back and it really made me think that I've been caught by the same tricks that it showed managers playing, which reinforces 'feminine roles' without valuing what women can actually do, so "Everything is so much nicer with a woman running things, but don't worry about having any authority just keep smiling at the men and they'll run things for you as long as you make the coffee."

With a houseful of girls, I have to try and change things so they don't have to put up with the nonsense I had to which is possibly better than it was in my mother's day. She was a stay-at-home mum - for that read brainwashed prisoner of the kitchen. She seemed happy enough with her lot but it didn't give her a chance to choose if it was what she wanted, it was just expected and she complied having got herself a husband who could support her and any children reasonably well. If my girls want to do that, I'll have them marched off for therapy under the mental health act.

Okay, so I'm a feminist who likes trilobites, big deal, it isn't because they're cute it's because I'm trying to understand how they lived, their ecology and why there were so many types and possibly also why they became extinct in such a short time when other crustaceans didn't. I'll have to get round to reading that book** by Richard Fortey the trilobite man from the Natural History Museum, he'll have some idea. I do know that many of the fossils are actually shed skins, not dead animals, as with all crustaceans, if they need to grow bigger they have to shed their skin or carapace and these were dumped on the sea bed and subsequently fossilised, but even so it's still mind-blowing to hold something in your hand and realise it's at least 250 million years old.

While I was musing on this profundity and eating some toast, I'd woken early and decided I'd come and have my breakfast in relative peace and quiet, when the thunder of hoofbeats indicated the entry of Livvie followed by Meems. "She's cwtching with Daddy," replied to my unasked question about the whereabouts of Trish and Hannah.

Lizzie was in her high chair with me, so the concept of peace and quiet was perhaps a little illusory, she started shouting at Meems who went over to her and kissed her only to get some banana rubbed into her hair. This then turned into a minor spat with Meems telling her off and Lizzie's giggles turning to tears. Then Livvie got involved and told off Meems for being so stupid and I told all three of them off, which resulted in the two older girls running off sniffing past Tom who then asked me, "Whit wis goin' on?" Another normal day in paradise. Some days I do wonder why I bother.

I finished my toast and tea and instead of sitting down with Daddy, I grabbed Lizzie and took her up to bathe her, she had banana in her hair as well. When I got upstairs there were giggles emanating from the bedroom, so Simon and the two girls were obviously having fun. Livvie and Meems were in the shower and when I checked, Danni was reading about hedgehogs. I asked her to bathe Lizzie while I got myself washed and dressed, for once she simply got out of bed and did as I asked. If hedgehog books were having such an effect on her I did wonder if I ought to recommend a dormouse one.

I went into my own bathroom and Simon and the two girls were still being silly, I suspect he was telling them some nonsense story because they were laughing out loud. They hardly noticed me enter the room and slip into the bathroom grabbing some underwear as I did so. When I exited the bathroom, all three of them had gone, presumably, to get breakfast, I just hoped that Simon slipped on some pants over his undies. Boxers are not the best wear in the kitchen.

"What d'you want Lizzie to wear?" called Danni and I grabbed a few things and took them down to her. She continued to look after her younger sister while I made sure that Livvie and Meems dried their hair properly before putting it in plaits. Then it was to see what the gigglers had had for breakfast. I don't so much have time to get bored as exhausted. It wasn't eight o'clock and I'd been busy for the past hour, while Simon sat at the table trying to convince me how much work he'd done feeding his fan club after entertaining them. His look suggested that he'd done me such a large favour, but being school holidays I wondered if he thought about how I cope when he isn't there because if he did, it wasn't noticeable.

Finally, just as I was about to clear the table, Stella arrived with her two, so I left them to it. She'll probably complain, but I had a report to write for the bank, some dissertations to mark and a life to lead. Perhaps the last part of that was pure fantasy.

http://www.trilobites.info/ A website about trilobites - very good.

**Fortey, RA., (2000) Trilobite! Eye witness to evolution. Harper Collins, London.

* https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/aug/13/benevolent-sex...

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3249 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
* Author's note in order to bring the story up to date it is going to be necessary to jump forward at least a year. Everyone has survived, which given the situation in mid 2020 is a matter of good luck. The lockdown has created problems for the family so perhaps we need to see just what happened as the Camerons deal with covid-19 virus and a world affected by it.
The lockdown had happened, possibly a week or two later than it should have though it caught us somewhat by surprise and we became a family rent asunder by it. Simon was stuck in London but Sammi was with us in Portsmouth, Julie and Phoebe were in Portsmouth but in their own flat and Jacquie was stuck in Southampton where she was doing a degree in philosophy and comparative religions. I think she only did it because Trish knew nothing about any of it and so couldn't 'put her right' in her erroneous opinions. Trish's opinions were always correct - as far as Trish was concerned. All I knew was my set of Joseph Campbell's books were now in Jacquie's bedsit in Southampton. It's actually a one bed flat, but I think I've seen bigger bedsits, but at least she is self contained with her own kitchen and bathroom the former having its own washing machine.

Simon had bought another flat in London, this time it had two bedrooms and Sammi shared it with him during a normal week, but nothing was normal now. Despite being told to stay home, Simon would walk or cycle to work - he bought a folding bike for the purpose, a Brompton. I hadn't seen it, but I have a feeling he got one with an electric motor. He was okay, bored out of his mind but we spoke everyday on the phone and once a week or so using Zoom. Not exactly secure, but we were only talking about ordinary things.

We also Zoomed with Jacquie and she said it was the only thing which kept her sane, that and having her own place. I actually helped her buy it, she eventually got some compensation for being unfairly convicted of a crime she didn't commit, and we thought it would be a good idea for her to invest some of it in property and one bedroom flats tend to sell to first time buyers, so there is always a market for them.

Phoebe and Julie had bought a new salon after the old one was damaged by fire, helped by Simon and the insurance. Their new place was much nicer but suddenly their business was closed down by lock down regulations. Hairdressers were to be closed for about sixteen weeks and beauty therapists even longer. But at least they were together, even if they were bored out of their skulls and because they weren't part of our household anymore, they couldn't pop in to do their washing or anything else. It felt very frustrating for everyone, but I was encouraging everyone to stay home except for shopping or personal exercise.

In practising social distancing we did occasionally arrange to see each other by staying a few yards apart but it was so hurtful not being able to give either of them a hug. We phoned each other and used Zoom. Once a week, I'd set up a conference call and everyone would be on Zoom together. Considering my scepticism of such software I was reasonably impressed, though anything involving the university we used Microsoft team.

Things which were already hard, became harder and I felt very sorry for the students, those in their final year could still submit their dissertation, but online, usually we have type-written copies on paper and bound with those plastic binder grip thingies. I've still got one in my study bought to do my master's dissertation and used again for my doctoral thesis.

In the initial stages everyone was home, then a couple of months into it the convent allowed the children to go back in half time. The class rooms were disinfected between each 'shift', ours went in the mornings but before then, they were sent work every day except Sunday and had to do it that day and submit the next. They certainly weren't allowed to slack. Despite being relatively busy, there were still squabbles and rows. Trish, Hannah and Livvie were all now teenagers, being thirteen. Hannah and Livvie were now having periods but there was no friction over that and our non menstruating girls, instead they squabbled over anything and everything else - just like a normal family of teenage girls.

Stella and her two had come back to live with us having had her own place she decided it was more comfortable with us and Tom raised no objections. Thankfully, she was much more helpful than she had been and both her two were now of school age but she took them off to a separate school near the hospital. It was private too and I'm pretty sure Henry helped her with the bills.

Danni was now sixteen and a very lovely young woman who was rarely short of attention from boys until the virus happened, so she took a while to come to terms with 'house arrest' as she called it. She and Trish spent most fine days playing with a football in the garden. I still felt sad that the FA had treated her so badly simply because she was transgendered. I'd even suggested she continue playing for Portsmouth ladies but to her it was England or nothing.

I had even made the unthinkable suggestion that she consider playing for Scotland ladies as both her parents were Scottish by birth and so were her grandfathers. Sadly the virus interrupted our negotiations but I knew the manager was quite interested and like the Scottish parliament seemed to be more proactive in dealing with minority groups. It would mean that Danni would have to play regularly at club level and then attend training sessions up in Scotland, but with our support it was all possible. I was also working on her attitude to change her mind to give it one more go and for Scotland. It would certainly look good on her CV.

Tom was still the same, he was acting Vice Chancellor and worked as many hours from home as he did from his office. He grumbled about the fact that he ate more salads than chicken curries, especially during the early part of the lockdown when it was very warm - all the youngsters got well tanned just playing out in the garden.

David was still with us, but he was the only help we had none of the others stayed very long, though initially they would tell me I was the best employer ever. I never managed to discover why they left. At one point, I even considered seeing if Maureen knew of anyone, even a trannie who wanted a reasonably paid job. Apparently none of them did, possibly she paid better - though her business had to temporarily close due to the virus restrictions - at least they did for two months but people like the bank were asking her to do the work they had arranged before the lockdown and while it was relatively quiet.

You remember Delia who was my secretary turned student, well she was awarded a 2:1 in Natural Science. I was so proud of her and pleased for her. We're still hoping to get out and celebrate sometime with Diana, my current secretary.

We are still trying to work out what is going to happen next year, possibly some of it will be virtual lectures via the internet, but they can't learn dissection or lab work that way - doing experiments or using instruments like microscopes or spectrometers. We are meeting in the flesh in small numbers to discuss these things as well as internet meetings. At present it looks like numbers will be down as we will have lost many of our overseas students, especially Chinese ones.

I'm also looking at the possibility of those activities they need equipment for, such as lab work will be done in smaller groups by shift, we'll just have to try and accommodate it, so could push staff costs up. Anyway, I'm still at Portsmouth, though Bristol was very tempting and there are still rumours that Sussex could come up at any time if bloody Harvard or whoever would only hurry up and make Esmond an offer he couldn't refuse. I'm not entirely sure I want it even if I was successful at interview - though Ezzie does keep telling me he's only keeping the seat warm for me and that I was the best student he'd ever taught. I take such statements with a bucketful of salt, never mind a pinch.

So that's where we are today, so far safe but separated as a family and looking forward to August when we can at last begin to meet.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3250 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
"What is wrong with playing for Scotland?" I asked my teenage daughter.

"It's not England, is it?" she sighed pouting at the same time.

"For many Scots that is probably the best thing about it."

"Huh," she said looking fed up with me. "Look, in terms of logistics, it's not possible is it?"

"I don't know, Gareth Bale plays for Wales and Milan."

"Yeah but he's an established international."

"I thought you were."

"It's the women's team, Mum, think again, nothing is fixed there..."

"Especially their morality." I added to her unfinished sentence.

"Okay, so they're shits - so bloody what, I'm out of it all now."

"It could give you a chance to get your own back when Scotland play them."

"That's the only tempting thing about it."

"Why not try for it, it's not guaranteed you'd get in anyway, you may not be good enough."

She burst out laughing, "Not good enough, ha, me an' a goalie could probably beat 'em."

"So why are you frightened about trying out for them?"

"What are people going to think?"

"Whatever they want, but you can make a certain group of people in London regret they way they treated you."

"What's to stop them saying they dropped me because I was really a boy?"

"The fact that they'd have to sell Wembley stadium to pay off the damages I sue them for and show them up as the bigots they are."

"You're crazy, you'd never beat them because the media would support them."

"Don't you believe it, I think I'll start a campaign, Trans Lives Matter.

"That was nearly as good as the one you thought up before, 'A sex change is for life, not just Christmas.'

"I still stand by that one, I thought it was quite good."

She rolled her eyes, "Says the woman who lives in stealth so deep half her family don't know about her."

"What half are those then?"

"Lizzie, Puddin', Cate and Bramble."

"I did tell Bramble."

"Not on my reckoning. When I asked her about it she was horrified."

"Sure she was, I suppose she blushed as well, just like you are Danielle Cameron." She was looking slightly pink before but in response to my comment she went a nice shade of pillar box.

She pretended to stamp off in high dudgeon, or maybe it was low dudgeon - if there is such a thing. Strange word, dugeon one meaning is the handle of a dagger which is French-English in origin, but the term meaning resentment has no certain origin, so probably originates from something aeons ago the roots of which have been lost in history, a bit like one of the dissertations I was supposed to be marking for someone's PhD only it failed to arrive and we have since been unable to contact the author - if there are enough extenuating circumstances, like the dog ate his mother and his father was abused by the au pair, who turned out to be a drag artiste called Norman who stole all the family silver while his cat weed on his lap top just before he was going to send in his dissertation. So the dog ate my homework, just ain't gonna cut it anymore. Anyway, Diana sent him a letter saying we hadn't received the aforementioned document in any shape, size or manner and that the price of corruption by bribery had increased enormously since the lockdown.

I remember Daddy telling me about a complaint he received many years ago. I asked what the complaint was about and he couldn't remember. I then asked him what he did about it and he simply replied, "Corrected the spelling and sent it back to them with 'fail', written across the top." I could just see him doing that, too.

I told all those who would listen I was going for a bike ride and Danni decided to come along as well. The others were watching some ancient film from back in the 1970s before I was born, suprised they didn't need a translator, didn't they still speak Norman French in those days?

I had to admit I hadn't done much riding for ages, though at the start of the lockdown I set up the turbo and did an hour a day for a month but that was two months ago and I'd hardly put bum to saddle since.

So off we set, me in an old Saunier Duval set on the Specialized and Danni who looked like she was going clubbing in a cycling outfit. I'd have a definite advantage on hills as the amount of mascara she was wearing would slow her down. I was rather glad she hadn't noticed me giggling to myself at this silly thought, she was of the opinion I was already mentally incompetent, perhaps she was right.

We had agreed our route and were crossing town when another cyclist came flying past us, wrapped in lycra which was all black. It was a bloke so I let him go, besides I wasn't in good enough form to give chase. I didn't think Danni was either but that didn't stop her standing on the pedals and tearing off after him. Bugger, that meant I had to go as well, just to keep her safe you understand. I clicked up a couple of cogs and wound up the speed by about fifty per cent. They were both still a long way ahead and I put my head down into time trial mode and set myself a punishing cadence as I began to close the gap.

The problem with 'chasing the rabbit' is that the bunny rarely knows you're in pursuit until you overtake them, then it can get quite competitive. I suspect the man in black, Danni was pursuing probably saw us as his rabbits now it was his turn, which may have been his intention in the first place; though with my overall body shape and long hair, he should have known I was female and I suspect Danni looks similar, her locks were certainly flapping in the breeze as she nearly caught him and I was closing in on her. She was tucked down into racing mode as well.

It was almost predictable that our rabbit should take the road up Portsdown Hill which would probably end my pursuit and I expected Danni to lose touch with him too. So much for my gift as a prophet, she was wheel sucking as he increased his pace to leave her behind, except he wasn't and she stayed with him, being much lighter in bodyweight. To my astonishment, I wasn't dropping back either and that spurred me on to try a bit harder, after all, this used to be my party trick.

Digging in, I upped my cadence but remained sitting letting the gears do the job, while black lycra man, was doing his impersonation of Lance Armstrong, dancing on the pedals. He pulled away for a few moments but my strategy caught up the gap and a couple of minutes later I was just behind Danni who was no tiring. I passed her and she sort of growled, "Go get him, Mummy," or words to that effect. It spurred me on and at the summit I caught and passed him, he'd blown. To rub it in a little I pulled away, recognising who it was, someone who once humiliated me not by out riding me but by telling me in front of the whole university club, to go play with the girlies.

About a quarter of a mile up the road I stopped to wait for Danielle. He pulled in just ahead of her. "That was some ride, girl," he gasped still breathing hard as he lifted his bidon from its cage on the down bar.

"Oh, Mummy, I'm knackered," gasped Danielle and I almost had to catch her as she stopped and wobbled.

"Good riding, young lady," said Howard Cornish to Danni. She nodded a response being busy pouring water down her throat. He looked at me, "You don't ride for a club, do you?"

"No," was my short reply.

"You should."

"Should I now?" Implying I didn't like strange men telling me what to do.

"I mean it's a pity not to see such talent put to good use." Despite his reddened face I suspect he was blushing.

"I was once told by some arsehole that I wasn't good enough for the ladies team, so I haven't bothered since."

"Which team was that?" he asked looking surprised.

"Sussex Uni, why?"

"Good gracious, I used to ride for Sussex Uni, who told you you weren't good enough?"

"Actually, I think it was you, I have to go, come along Danielle," I called to my smirking daughter as I pedalled off at a reasonable pace.

"Did you see his face, Mummy? I thought he was going to fall off his bike," she said as we wiped the bikes down and put them back in the bike shed.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3251 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

A while after we'd got back from the bike ride, the phone rang, it was the manager of the Scotland Ladies soccer team. Incredibly, he lived and worked in Scotland but spoke perfect English compared to daddy who lapsed into Lallans at the drop of a hat and he hasn't lived there for centuries - well a long time.

"Hello Lady Cameron, I've called to ask if your daughter has decided whether she'd like to play for us or not."

"I think she's concerned about the distance she'd have to travel, especially with all this Covid-19 business disrupting things."

"I can understand that but if she wants to keep her international career, she'll have to put up with some discomfort. We'd certainly like to see her train with the squad to consider how she might best fit into it."

"I'd like to see her play too, she's too talented to waste it just because some bigot at the FA decided they don't like transgender women, after she'd won a couple or more matches for them."

"We don't have that problem in Scotland and the government here is probably more free thinking about it than in London."

"I know she got tired of people asking very personal questions as if they had a right to...have you had the operation, are you on hormones, do you prefer boys or girls? I mean if you asked anyone else that sort of question you'd likely end up with a slap across the face, but for trans people it seems acceptable."

"Not here, Lady Cameron, if she qualified to play for the FA she'll qualify here and the only medical we're interested in is one which says she's fit enough to play."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"However, we can't wait forever, so she has to let us know in the next two weeks if she's available to train with us or not."

"I appreciate you have deadlines and commitments, so Mr Haldane, I promise I will get her to call you or do so myself within the next two weeks."

He rang off just as Trish walked in. "Brought you a cuppa, who was on the phone?"

"Thank you, sweetheart, it wasn't anyone for or about you, so I can't tell you."

"Oh okay, be like that, Dan, it was the Scots asking you to win the rerun of Bannockburn, you gonna go?" She shouted as she walked back from my study towards the kitchen.

How had she worked that out and when did she learn about Bannockburn? She is a peculiar child, but then you know that, who sometimes seems to almost read your mind and at others seems totally and utterly inept except with mathematical type puzzles of logic.

Danni strolled in, "Why are they still chasing me, I told them, no, a month ago?"

"I think they appreciate how much talent you have."

"Had, Mother, the word is had. I have retired from football or even fitba' so I'm not interested, and as for travelling up there so many times a year, it was bad enough going up for Ali's funeral. No thanks."

"They said you could have up to a fortnight to change your mind."

"I'm not going to change my mind, why can't you accept that?"

"I think it's a mistake and there's also a part of me would like to see humble the bigots at Wembley, by leading a rout by the Scots."

"But I'm not even Scottish."

"No but I am, so is you dad and your both grandpas."

"But I'm adopted."

"I know, darling, but the Scottish team said that counts for the same as a birth child. Wouldn't you like to show England where they went wrong?"

"If we won, which isn't certain. Besides it would just give the tabloids a chance to assassinate me all over again."

"Is that the only reason, the tabloids?"

She shrugged, "Isn't that enough, that and the wasted time travelling, it was bad enough going to Reading for training and that's only up the road. Scotland's three hundred miles away - c'mon, Mummy, it takes all day to get there."

"Not by air it doesn't."

"I thought you were an ecologist?" she said wryly.

"I know, carbon footprint and all that..."

"So how can you contemplate sending me to Scotland in a plane."

"The plane's are flying anyway, so one extra body won't make much difference to the pollution levels."

"But it does in principle, or doesn't it when it affects something you want to do or happen?"

I felt myself blush, this kid was growing up and some of it was not as nice as some other parts but she was showing that she could think on her feet and also had some scruples, which I knew anyway, but it's nice to see them all the same.

"Okay, so I'm a hypocrite, but I want to see you happy and playing footie is what makes you happy."

"It used to, Mum, but I'm learning to live without it. I just wanna live like an ordinary girl, well as ordinary as I can be going to uni and getting a job I like doing."

"What if they ask you about your soccer career at university?"

"What if they do? I'll tell them the truth."

"What that you're transsexual?"

"No I'm female, but that I upset someone in the hierarchy and it destroyed my career."

"What if they asked you if you fancied playing for the university?"

"I'd say no."

"Even if it meant getting a place you might not otherwise have got?"

"Yes, look, let this go will you. I am not playing football for anyone ever again, end of message."

"I think it's such a shame."

"Look, Mum, it's only a game, if it upsets you that badly, you go and play or send the brainiac, just leave me out of it, okay?"

"If that's how you feel?"

"It is," she swept out of the room and I felt very sad. I should be proud of her, that she had the strength to do something which I don't know if I could have done. Yet I feel there will be a regret some time later down the line and I don't want to see her in that situation.

For a young woman of only sixteen, she seems to have tremendous fortitude which was obvious on the soccer pitch but now in other things she does. She showed it when she realised that she had had gender reassignment surgery, which was a massive step to take and although she had the odd tremor, when it looked like it was going to be a problem, she transcended it. Perhaps the Shekinah is strong in her as well. In some ways I hope so because she deserves some reward from the universe for the way she has handled things.

"If Scotland are in that much trouble, do they want me to go and help them?" offered Trish who had slipped into the room while i was lost in my brown study.

"I think you're wee bit too young, but if you continue to practice, who knows what could happen."

"I'm only joking, Mummy, I'll never be as good as Danni, she is something special and I think you're right to try and talk her into playing for the Scots, but she seems determined not to do so."

"I hope she doesn't regret it." I sighed.

"Me too, she's a good sister."

"Hang on a minute, you're usually trying to character assassinate each other, why the change of heart?"

"She's my sister and I prefer to fight with Livvie or Hannah, more my size."

"They're your sisters too," somehow my logic wasn't the same as hers.

"Yeah but Danni's okay..."

"And the others aren't, is that what you're saying?"

"No, Mummy, just listen will you. If I have to fight anyone, I prefer to do so with Liv or Han, not Danni, who is bigger and stronger and just has to call for you and battle is over as you always take her part."

"I don't," do I? I asked myself silently.

"Yes you do, what about the yellow skirt, you took her side then."

"You dyed it blue except it went green and it was her skirt before you destroyed it."

"That's just hearsay evidence," she threw back at me, "her word against mine."

"I was with her when she bought it."

"I'm sure that's just a case of false memory syndrome, she told you that you were with her when she allegedly bought it, because it was actually my skirt."

"No it wasn't, Trish, I am not misremembering or creating false memories I was with her when she bought it at Gun Wharf."

"What about the Mamma Mia DVD then?"

"What about it?"

"She said it was hers and it wasn't."

"No it was your daddy's."

"See she lies about these things and you always take her side."

"She wasn't claiming it was hers."

"Yes she was, when me an' Han wanted to borrow it."

"She didn't say it was hers, but she was watching it when you wanted to borrow it."

"No she wasn't she was texting a friend, probably Pia and only noticed I'd taken it when she finished."

I began to think it was going to be a long day.

"P'raps I'll become a barrister..."

"What one who sells coffee?" called Livvie poking her head round the door, "Lunch is ready, Mummy."

"That's a barista, numpty," shouted Trish at her sister.

"Yeah, what's the difference?" was shouted back.

About a hundred thousand a year I suspect, flitted through my mind in answer to her question.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3252 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
The rest of the day after a dose of Trish's quirky logic went more or less normally. There was soccer on the telly, some game from Germany or somewhere else abroad. I was headed for my study but Trish wanted to watch it and another argument ensued between her and Danni.

"I wanna watch it," said Trish loudly.

"Well I don't," replied Danielle at the same level of decibels.

"Reminds you of someone does it?" fired Trish.

"What d'you mean?" said Danni angrily.

"Someone who used to live here before they turned tail and ran off to hide."

"I'm not hiding from anyone."

"Just anyone who loves football, is it?"

"Oh stuff you."

"Chicken." Called Trish and I wondered if I should intervene before a full blown fight happened, but I waited for a moment.

"Who's chicken?" bristled Danni.

"You are, you gave in to them, betrayed us, I thought you were the greatest thing since sliced bread, but you're not, you're just the crumbs on the floor."

"And how did I betray you?" Danni was moving closer and I moved closer to her as well.

"By accepting that trans girls are different to other females, how can we gain acceptance if we chicken out when it matters."

"I didn't chicken, I just got fed up of being treated like a piece of shit."

"So give the shit back to them."

"I can't, it's too late."

"No it isn't, show 'em the Cameron in-swinger is alive and well, bend it like Danni."

"It is, I've finished with it, alright, so let it go."

"It's only too late because you're too chicken and too lazy to get fit again."

"How would you know anything about fitness? You've never trained anywhere near as hard as is required."

"Okay, you show me."

"Show you? Don't make me laugh..."

"See, you are chicken."

"Okay, I'll bet you that you don't last a week."

"Why, how you gonna know either way?"

"'Cos I'll be there watching you suffer."

"And if you lose?"

"I'll think about going back to Portsmouth Ladies. But if I win, I don't want anyone to ever raise this matter again. Agreed?"

"Yeah," said Trish and they slapped hands. "So when do we start?"

"Tomorrow." said Danni coldly.

"What time?"

"Six o'clock."

I saw the surprise in Trish's face for a moment, "Okay, no prob." Danni walked out of the room but I knew that Trish liked her bed too much to want to be out running at six in the morning, especially as it was a school day.

"Was it worth it?" I asked Trish quietly.

"Not for me, but it might help her change her mind without any loss of face."

"That is very brave of you."

"Yeah, I know but I suspect I might regret it in the morning."

"Go to bed early."

She looked at the clock, think I might, night, Mummy," she pecked me on the cheek and went upstairs.

"Aren't you training too?" I asked her sisters.

"No way," said Livvie and Hannah and slunk off towards the kitchen.

"I'll go wiv her," said Meems.

"Thanks, kiddo. I knew I could count on you to keep them in line." She smirked but puffed out her chest and went off to bed. I did an hour's reading and then went to my bed after checking on the younger ones.

I woke up bathed in sweat, I had just seen the 4x4 come at me, the young copper took a bullet and went down and I reflexively grabbed the Kalashnikov and returned the fire. I didn't aim, simply held it tight and pointed at the car as it raced towards us, when suddenly it veered off the road and into the loch. I stood there in shock until I realised no one was coming back from there and then went to help with the wounded.

That weekend I killed ot contributed to the deaths of half a dozen people, all of whom were intent on killing me and my children. I didn't exactly feel remorse because I didn't start it, at the same time it wasn't a moment of which I was proud. I glanced at the clock, it was nearly five thirty and the sky showed signs of lightening, so dawn was getting closer although the nights were lengthening at the expense of the day.

It was weeks since I'd dreamt of the ordeal in Scotland. I suppose my mind would never forget the trauma, though in some ways I'd had several equally horrible experiences, it was only the Scottish one which seemed to haunt me. In the worst version, the attackers walked out of the loch and kept coming towards me even though I kept shooting lumps off them, like some sort of zombie nightmare. Thankfully, I always woke up before they got to me, though on one occasion I managed to shoot the head off one of them before I woke, he just kept coming. Now that might work for insects and even the odd chicken, but it doesn't for humans, loss of blood pressure would stop it to begin with but also loss of neural circuits would also prevent locomotion.

I shuddered and got myself out of bed and after a quick visit to the loo, woke Trish noticing that Danni's light was on and she was moving around. I woke Meems quietly and she nodded at me then turned over and went back to sleep. I didn't have the heart to rouse her again.

I was standing in the kitchen with the kettle boiling as the two athletes came down in shorts and sweat shirts. They each had head light torches so I suggested they used them. I also asked them if they wanted a cuppa before they started but both declined and set off watched by me and a rather sleepy cat who was trying to convince me it was her breakfast time. I made myself a cup of tea because everything feels easier after one, fed the cat and went upstairs to shower and dress, it would be something tidy today because I had meetings all day, including meeting up with the team who recently contributed to a documentary about dogs. They are a small part of my science empire and something the university has been doing for a few years. The dog team are as mad about canines as I am about dormice - well nearly as much.

By the time I was downstairs, this time having roused all the children, it was nearly seven, the time not the children, our two runners came back in. They'd done five kilometres and looked like it, red faced and blowing hard. They each downed a drink of milk and went up to shower.

"So who won?" asked Livvie smirking as Danielle and Trish sat down to eat their breakfasts.

"No one won, it's about stamina and determination. I'm bigger than Trish so can run farther and faster, but I don't so she can keep up with me."

"So a war of ..." started Hannah.

"Attrition?" offered Livvie.

"I knew that," grumbled Hannah.

"Sure, so why didn't you say it?" Livvie was merciless on occasions.

"You didn't give me a chance to say it, that's why."

"Okay girls, no squabbling, if you please. Danni and Trish are okay with each other, so let's keep it unanimous if you don't mind." I intervened and things calmed down as they all finished filling their faces, however, Liv and Hannah were still arguing when I dropped them off at school.
I did my day's work and on driving into the school saw Danni talking to Sister Maria, they parted before I got to them.

"Everything okay, darling?" I asked her.

"Yeah, I just agreed to play soccer for them this weekend, I s'pose I ought to contact Portsmouth Ladies and see what's what?"

"Good idea," I agreed.

"It don't mean I'm playing properly again, right?" insisted Danielle.

"I didn't say you were," I protested but saw Trish smirking behind her sister.

"I know, I just wanted to make it clear," said Danni not seeing the communal smirk that was behind her as the others joined Trish in her gloat.

"How about we get some ice cream to have when we get home?" I said changing the subject.

"What we celebratin', Mummy?"

"Another day of survival against the dread virus."

"You have to wear one of those horrid masks?" asked Livvie.

"Not in my office, but in the communal areas, I do."

"Like us, can I get one of those plastic visor things?" she asked, "they've gotta be better than a stupid bit of cloth."

"I've ordered a dozen of them for us," I said as we got in the people carrier. "Next stop the supermarket, I gave Danni a fiver, "Get a large tub of something, okay kiddo?"

"Oh great my choice," she said jumping out of the car and pulling on her mask, the rest of what she said was lost by muffling from the mask, this virus is real nuisance.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3253 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
Danni came back with a carton of Cornish ice cream which claimed to contain real clotted cream, though I always thought that came from Devon. The others weren't picky and they wolfed it down when we got home. At least while they were eating, Hannah and Livvie weren't arguing.

So it appeared the prodigal football player was setting to return to run amok amongst the schoolgirls of Hampshire, especially in the Portsmouth and district league. Did I really approve of someone with Danielle's skills playing against such amateurs? I did but mainly because she had no great advantage physically over them, in fact some were bigger and faster, what she had was talent and skills that were much above the rest. In fact, I suspect she might have made it as a male player, perhaps not to an international cap, but she could have succeeded in the professional game. Life however decided that wouldn't happen and with some help from Pia changed the course of her future, the legislation allowing transgender athletes to compete in their chosen gender enabled the rest, or shall we say, it enabled her to show her talents in a somewhat different body on a slightly different stage.

The rest of the week went by normally, save for the two girls rising early and going out running. It was having much more effect on Trish, who lost a bit of her puppy fat and began to look much leaner and fitter, her legs particularly so. Danni was simply recovering her fitness which had been very good before she fell out with Wembley.

Actually that's not quite right, she didn't fall out with them, they simply shelved her and stopped including her in the England squad. As Trish said, they betrayed her because they didn't stand up to the criticism from tabloid papers about playing a trans girl. She was by far their best player, by a mile, so dropping her was like cutting off a leg. They'd been beaten by a couple of teams since which Danni reckons was because she wasn't there. I hope now to gently ease her into wearing the blue shirt of Scotland, especially as there was a fixture against England in six months time, assuming the virus allowed it to happen.

At least I now had something to feel positive about and looked forward to going to watch the two girls play for their school the next day. All too soon, it was Saturday and Danielle wore the 'Beckham number seven' shirt. As soon as the other team saw it, there were anxious faces and grumbles, 'But she's a boy, ref.'

Apparently Sister Maria had spoken to both the local schools soccer committee and the referee who was presiding today and both accepted she met the criteria to play as a woman by virtue of surgery and hormones and I had a letter from both the surgeon who rebuilt her groin and her psychiatrist, my good pal, Stephanie Caudwell who suggested that she was mentally sound and quite female in her thought processes. Given that she was a teen with a growing sex drive, I suppose that like most teenage girls, she enjoyed the company of boys, though her recent exposure in the tabloids had curtailed her social life somewhat before the dreaded virus had struck, so she only really had soccer and her school work to keep her sane.

I'd felt that she had matured enormously in the past six or so months and she was viewing life as a young adult not a child. I was really proud of her and the lovely young woman she had become, though she was a different animal on a football pitch and today was no exception. I watched my two daughters destroy the opposing school's team in the first half. It seemed they both felt they had something to prove and by half time, St Claire's were six goals to nil. Both had scored a hat trick apiece and others had nearly added to the drubbing.

The second half was even worse, the other side gave up and Danielle ended up with eight goals to her name and Trish had five, with three other girls getting on the score sheet. The final score was sixteen nil.

I suspected there would be protests, either in the echo or to the school, or to the football committee. Meanwhile, Portsmouth Ladies were really pleased to have their top striker back, though their first game was cancelled as two of the team showed symptoms of covid and the whole team had to self-isolate for seven days, longer if they showed any signs of the virus. Thankfully mine didn't.

However, our luck ran out when Henry was taken ill a couple of days after a meeting in Paris. Henry doesn't do illness, he's a workaholic, mind you to a large extent so is Simon - remember him, I married him a few years back. He was self-isolating in London as well, which just meant he worked from his computer at his flat.

Simon proved to be okay and a week later went back to work, Henry went to hospital, a private one near Westminster but was transferred to St George's when he worsened. Monica phoned me in great distress.

"Cathy, he's going to die, isn't he, he can hardly breathe even when they lie him on his front."

"C'mon, Monica, he's a fighter, he'll come through it."

"Can't you do some of your magic on him?"

"They won't let you near him, so what chance have I got?" Besides I don't want to catch it and bring it home, plus I'd have to self-isolate after seeing him.

"Sorry, Cathy, I'm just out of my mind with worry. I don't know whether I'm on my head or my heels."

"It must be awful, Monica, but all you can do is send him your love and be ready to look after him when he comes home."

"Can't you do anything?" she sounded desperate.

"I'll see if I can send him some healing, but I'm sure he'll pull through, he's pretty healthy generally." I knew this because I'd sorted pretty well all of him when he was shot that time, when they wouldn't believe I could pull bullets out of someone, mind you I hardly believed it myself, but it is quite a party trick.

The rest of that evening was bit traumatic. I had two frustrated footballers, who still had two days to go before they could stop isolating and thus missed their opportunity to create mayhem on the footie field. St Claire's still won apparently but only by one goal. So what with them mooning about the place squabbling with all the others and Simon phoning to ask me to help Henry, it wasn't the usual relaxed atmosphere of a Sunday evening.

"Just what do you expect me to do, Simon?"

"Look, babes, can't you have a chat with that goddess of yours and ask her to give him a leg up."

"Oh yeah, she's just waiting on my next demand."

"Well what are you waiting for?"

"I was being ironic."

"Oh."

"Have you ever gone to church and told God to pull his finger out?"

"I told him to fuck off out of my life when my mother died."

"Oh, so it's not just me."

"What isn't?"

"Feeling a disappointment with the Demi-urge."

"The what?"

"The name the Cathars and other gnostic sects gave the god of the Old Testament because they felt he was flawed and imperfect, in fact they felt their mission was to escape past him to get to the true god in the heavens beyond him. Qabbalistically, that would presumably be beyond the Veils of Negative Existence." I wittered on.

"Babes, I haven't got a clue what you're on about, just ask your goddess lady to help him, please, I'm really scared for him, he's on a ventilator."

Oh shit, "Okay, I'll do what I can."

"Please, Babes, I'm really begging you..." I could hear the pain in his voice and I think he was actually crying. My heart felt like it would tear apart. He rang off and I went to plead with my girls to stop squabbling as I needed to send healing to Henry, who was very ill.

The bickering stopped and they all asked if they could come and help me. I told them in no uncertain terms that if they did they would have to stay quiet and do exactly as I said. I knew Danni and Trish could but whether the others, especially the younger ones could remained to be seen. They all followed me into my study and we sat in a circle holding hands and with our eyes closed I asked the goddess to help us.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3254 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
It was hard trying to concentrate on the goddess and keeping an eye on the younger children, but finally after asking that the children concentrate as best they could that I felt the room go colder and the familiar voice resounded in my head. "Why do you summon us, Catherine?"

Milady, I need your help."

"I notice you only seek our acquaintance when you need our help, why is that Catherine?"

"I try not to disturb you, milady unless things are dire."

She chuckled before responding, "Your skills in evasion and flattery increase each time we speak, so you are learning something even if it isn't the skills we would like you to acquire."

"I am sorry if I disappoint you," I said feeling my head bowing in supplication.

"It is nothing new and you are not the only one. Why do you call upon us?"

"My father in law, Henry Cameron, is dangerously ill."

"So why should we help, he became infected pursuing his usury by a virus which is only in your world because man's greed has liberated it into places it should never have occurred. He has brought this upon himself as all you humans have. You have made your bed, and in it, you will lie - a hospital bed."

"I am well aware of the causes, milady, and I agree, having spent most of my adult life trying to protect the ecosystems from which the virus escaped. In fairness to Henry, he has given generously to fund the work I try to do and enable future generations to continue."

"Your work is of no great significance in the general scheme of things, mankind will have to learn to curb their greed and their population size or the forces of nature will show them how in a manner which they will not enjoy."

I shuddered and wondered how much of the conversation the others could hear or understand. "I understand what you say, milady, but I ask you to help me spread your message, your warning to the world and, ask that you allow me to involve all my children in doing so."

"Are you pledging all your daughters to our service, Catherine?"

"I cannot do that, milady, they must choose the path they follow by themselves, however, I will promise to show them how serving you has shaped my life and make them aware of how it could do the same for them."

"So you expect us to compromise and grant you favours?"

I did but I wasn't going to admit it, now how do I get around this? "Milady, we are agreed that mankind has damaged this planet, its beauty, its wonder and, its fellow inhabitants and that we need to pull back from the brink or face awful consequences. I shall make as many aware of this as I am able and I will ask my daughters to assist me, to take the message to their peer groups, just as Greta Thunberg has done with hers."

"My presence is strong in that young lady, though she makes no demands on me she carries a stronger message than you, someone with greater education and position, do; why is that, do you think?"

Oh poo, why did I have to raise that one? "She is perhaps more committed and has fewer responsibilities than I do, though I offer them as pulls on my energy than as excuses."

"She is indeed more committed, but why should we worry about this silly little planet, mankind will solve their own problems."

"You think we are capable of doing that?" I asked wondering if she could foresee some technology or education programme that was invisible to me."

"No, but your unbridled greed will mean your own hastened extinction and thus exploitation of the Earth."

"From the Earth's perspective, I can see that as a solution, Milady, but what of all the other species that will share our fate?"

"Isn't that what that fellow, Darwin, predicted as a consequence of evolution?"

"Extinction is indeed the consequence of a failure to adapt to changing circumstances, particularly environmental ones."

"So, Catherine, use your education to see what that means given the scenario that presents itself now. Climate change and successive pandemics will change your Earth into a more hostile environment until man disappears and equilibrium will re-establish itself. It will take many years to heal this damaged planet, but it will eventually."

"Will you help me to heal Henry because he has a far greater platform to try and stop this chaos and disaster happening?"

"You think he will?" Her voice sounded unconvinced, "His past record doesn't recommend it."

"I will do my best, milady, to make him."

"Very well, make your wild goose chase but do not complain to us when it fails and he returns to his normal avaricious ways."

"Thank you, milady, I shall try to see he doesn't."

I yawned and shivered, then stretched and all the others did the same. "Was that wady weally here?" asked Meems.

"Could you see her?" I asked though as such it was mainly a rhetorical question as she'd indicated she could.

They all nodded or said they could. I then asked if they would help me save their grandfather and again they indicated in the affirmative, so after a few exercises to unstiffen our joints, we held hands again and I once more centred down focusing on Henry as he lay in a London hospital, critically ill.

Centring down, I found myself wandering the corridors of the hospital until I found his bed. His body was lying inert in the bed as a ventilator enabled him to breathe. Then I noticed a wraith of him standing beside the bed watching himself dying.

"Hello Henry," I said approaching him.

"Cathy, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"That's me, isn't it," he indicated the body in the bed struggling to breathe.

"Looks like it."

"Am I dead?"

"Not yet."

"But it's only a matter of time, isn't it?"

"Could be."

"Oh well, I suppose I've had a good life, known some good people."

"You going to go without a fight?" I asked him.

"Fight, what with, my body hasn't even got the strength to breathe by itself let alone fight anything."

"Where your spirit leads, your body will follow."

"That's what I am now, is it? A spirit?"

"That's one way of putting it, I suppose."

"I suspect I don't have time for semantics, do I, Cathy?"

"Maybe not, so are you going to fight or just give up?"

"How do I fight?"

"You'll need my help."

"I'll take any help that's on offer."

"There are conditions."

"What d'you mean, conditions?"

"I am here to save you at the behest of the Shekinah, her conditions are that you change your ways and try to save the planet rather than exploit it for every penny you get from it."

"Have you been reading A Christmas Carol,Cathy."

"Why have you?"

"No, but the scenario has similarities."

"Except Scrooge was saved, looks like you may not." We both looked down and alarms were buzzing on a bank of machines into which Henry's body was plugged. Doctors and nurses came running but the situation looked very grave.

"Oh dear, so is this goodbye, daughter-in-law?"

"Unless you promise me to change?"

"I have a choice?"

"Between oblivion and life, yes."

"Okay, let's go for the promise then, but hurry, Cathy, I'm feeling weaker by the moment."

"Take my hand," I said offering mine to him. He clasped mine and I felt an immediate flow of energy, he gasped and I pushed him back into his body, "Remember your promise, Henry," I called as his body reabsorbed him and his heart began again.

Firing energy into him, he began to breathe by himself and a nurse noticed it and called the doctor back to see him.

"This bloody virus is weird, half a dozen were about to pop off and now they're all breathing unassisted, how's that supposed to happen?"

The nurse gave a shiver as I walked past her complete with wings and angelic smile before fading from her view. "I think a miracle has happened," she said before adding, "I need a holiday, I think I just saw something."

"An angel was it?" prompted the doctor.

"Yeah, but it's this place isn't it, and too many hours, makes you imagine all sorts of things." She yawned inside her PPE, "I'm knackered."

"I saw it too, Nes," admitted the doctor quietly.

"So it wasn't just me then," she said unsure of what she actually saw.

"There are half a dozen who should be dead but aren't, so perhaps we did see what we thought we saw."

"In which case, I hope she comes again, we need all the help we can get."

Although they couldn't see me, while Henry was still in that hospital, I would return and although primarily intending to help him, I would try to share the energy with those who needed it most. I was also aware that Henry wasn't out of the woods yet, and given his promise, he may never be out of another sort of wood, but that one would contain trees and teeming wildlife. I was going to make him keep it.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3255 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
"Is Grampa Henry going to get better?" asked Trish. The look of concern she showed was echoed in the faces of the others including Danielle.

"I hope so, the goddess said she would help."

"Yeah, but she also said he wouldn't keep his promise, given his past history." Danielle was blunt about the facts.

"Is he a capitalist?" asked Trish to which Meems answered, "Course he is, he wives in Wondon, which is the capital, innit, Mummy.?"

"He does live in London, but he is also a capitalist, most bankers are."

"What they all wive in Wondon?" Meems looked surprised.

"No stupid, some live in Edinburgh and Cardiff as well," Trish was sometimes very rude to her sisters.

"Capitalism is an economic belief system which is based upon making profits on your investments."

"Yeah, at the expense of those lower down the food chain." Danielle had been reading some of my books again by the sound of it.

"It's survived longer than Communism," noted Livvie, who tended to think before she spoke unlike, the 'super-computer'.

"Look arguing about philosophy isn't going to help Grampa Henry, is it?" I tried to bring things back to the topic I felt we needed to consider.

There was a consensus mumble of, no, before Danielle asked directly, "How do you plan to make him keep his promise―threaten him?"

"How can she threaten him, he's a billionaire and he's a bloke." Trish seemed to rely on stereotypes of the genders, not entirely unusual in transgender folk. Sometimes I think I might also carry a bit of that bias. I was reminded of it when I read that the government had put the changes to the Gender Recognition Act in the dustbin and I felt relieved. But then I had gone through the process and come out the other side and had been blessed by looking quite female before I started the medical process. I was aware that not everyone who felt odd in their registered gender was transsexual at the same time I was overwhelmed by all the subspecies there seemed to be of it not including all the non-binary people. The latter I had no understanding of at all because I had identified with the binary and simply―well it wasn't that simple―swapped from one to the other sex. How people who claimed not to belong to either felt, I had no idea because it was outside my personal experience, at the same time, I tried not to feel bias against them, after all, I was expecting those who had no discomfort with their birth gender or sex to accept me. I just didn't understand it. At the same time, I had caused the university to set up a working party to help us deal with it to everyone's satisfaction except the fundamentalists, who were never satisfied unless it appeared in Deuteronomy or Leviticus.

Then there were the feminists and JK Rowling who were glad revision of the Act had failed because they were scared some bloke claiming to be a woman could attack them in a public loo. That could still happen, but statistically, no one who has switched gender has seemingly attacked a woman in a ladies toilet. Well, as far as I know, that is the case. It is also suggested that JK Rowling making a fuss about it all was a clever bit of marketing hype to promote her new detective novel, where the killer cross-dresses to catch his victims. Not a new idea, didn't Michael Caine star in a film where he cross-dressed to murder people, in a slasher type story? (Dressed to Kill).

As these thoughts ran through my mind I suddenly became aware that the cacophony had stopped and all my daughters were staring at me. "Well, Mummy?" said Livvie.

I blushed, she'd obviously asked me something and I hadn't listened to her question because I was too engrossed with my own thoughts. "I'm sorry, darling, did you ask me something?"

She sighed, rolled her eyes and then said, "Are you going to make Grandpa Henry keep his promise and how will you do it?"

"I don't know yet but I hope to do so, perhaps the goddess will give me some ideas on how to do it."

She sighed again, "Goodness, Mummy, you're an attractive woman, he's just a bloke and you should be able to run rings round him." They all laughed at her utterance though she wasn't laughing, she was deadly serious. I suspect she overestimates the power of female sexuality to change men's minds, though as she grows up she may find out empirically whether it works for her or not. Personally, I think it's overrated, a bit like sex much of the time.

"I don't think it's quite as straightforward as that, sweetheart."

"Yes it is, they think with their dicks, women use their brains."

"Women also think with their genitals at times, kiddo," I answered, I'd nearly said ovaries, but I don't have any of those and I have felt so turned on that I'd have been in a position to be manipulated by it. True it didn't happen as often as it seemed to with their dad, but who knows how it affects individuals.

"Huh?" she said looking blankly.

"Mummy's right," offered Danni, "just look at Julie, she's always in love with someone or other and she would do whatever they asked―well, within reason."

"Yeah, well, Julie's just a nympho..."

"That's enough, remember we have younger children here who don't understand this conversation, and I don't think I like you deriding your sister in this manner."

"Well, it's true, she's always chasing men."

"Perhaps when you get into your twenties and don't have a regular partner, you may feel it a bit more urgent to settle down with someone. Lots of young women go through the same experience."

"Yeah, Phoebe's as bad, in't she, Mummy?" was Hannah's contribution.

How do I get into these situations, where everything I think, say or do is going to complicate an already complicated matter?

"Right, that is the end of this subject. C'mon, little ones up to bed, Danni, Trish, Livvie and Hannah, have you done all your homework? C'mon Cate, up to bed." I clapped my hands as I spoke and they giggled and ran all over the place, it was a bit like herding cats. Eventually, I got Lizzie and Cate to bed and Tom agreed to read them a story. Trish and the older girls no longer felt a need for such childish things but I did occasionally catch them listening in to their younger siblings at storytime.

Later when I took the ironing up to hang in various wardrobes I overheard the 'dormitory' discussing the earlier events. "She's so easy to wind up, just mention something about sex and she starts blushing and gibbering."

There were titters of laughter after that and they discussed things that made me blush before Livvie announced, "Oh shit, I think I'm on," and there was general scurrying about in the bedroom. I entered with their clean school blouses. "Mum, have we got any more STs, I'm marking my knickers."

"I hope you haven't marked the bed, have you?" we looked and she had, so at nine-thirty, I had to strip the bottom sheet and throw it in the washing machine and replace it with a clean one and a draw sheet on top of it. By that time Livvie had washed and changed her knickers and used one of the pads, I gave her, leaving the rest of the packet on top of her bedside table.

She kissed me, thanked me and got back into bed. "Bloody periods," she cussed then laughed when she saw the unconscious pun, the others all chuckled with her.

"Good night," I said to them all and switched off the light.

"What was all that about?" asked Danielle as I passed her bedroom.

"Oh, nothing, just Livvie's time of the month."

"Oh okay, not sure if I'm jealous nor glad I don't have 'em." She looked more envious than glad and I knew that feeling very well.

"Just be grateful for what you do have, you're a very lucky young woman and a very beautiful one." I kissed her on the forehead.

"Don't you ever wish you could have them, periods I mean?"

"I knew what you meant; a few years ago I did but life has given me all the children I need or could wish to have, so I'm content with my lot."

"Yeah, but none of us are yours, exactly are we?"

I sat on the edge of her bed. "Danielle, that doesn't matter one jot to me or your dad. We couldn't love you any more than we do even if you had been created from our gonads, we love you all, full stop. Love isn't a comparative term, it's an absolute one, there are no conditions or limitations to the love we feel for you, though sometimes it is easier than others but that is due to circumstances on the day. So stop worrying, we love you." I kissed her on the forehead again. "Now go to sleep."

She had a few tears on her cheeks, then she smiled and said, "I know. Mummy, and we all love you both too."

"And each other, I hope."

"Yeah, even mega brain, that'll be good practice if ever they develop AI robots." She smirked as I switched off the light.

"Goodnight, darling," I said and left the bedroom smirking myself at her comparison of Trish to an intelligent robot. On occasions, that may have been true.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3256 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

Thankfully, it wasn't Livvie's first period, then I'd sort of struggled through and Livvie was so good. "You don't have them, do you, Mummy?"

"No, sadly I don't."

"You can have mine if you like, it hurts and it's messy and I hate it." She looked at me, she was twelve and spoke as if she was twice that age.

"You may be glad of the process one day. Especially if you want to have children."

"Children, at age twelve, who d'ya think I am, the BVM?"

"They told you that Mary was about twelve or thirteen when she had Jesus, did they?"

"No, you did a couple of years ago, you also suggested that Joseph may have been quite a bit older."

"Did I?" I had forgotten.

"Jeez, Mummy..." then she burst into laughter, "She was too."

"You've lost me," I looked on aghast as she nearly fell about laughing.

"Jeez, Mummy, get it?"

"Sorry, I must have left my brain in the office, but no, I don't get it."

"Mary, she was Jesus' mother."

"Yes, I remembered that bit." I was still confused.

"I said, Jeez, Mummy."

"Yes, I know."

"Jeez is a way of saying Jesus without blaspheming."

"So is gee, or possibly instead of God."

"We were talking about the BVM."

"Yes, I know."

"And I said, Jeez, Mummy...now d'you get it?"

I sighed, "It's not very funny though is it?"

"I thought so, anyway, she was a child bride but no one tries to ban the New Testament because it documents child abuse, do they?"

I think this girl may be destined to be a lawyer. "Times were different then."

"They actually celebrate it, it was a miraculous conception - no it wasn't it was a case of child abuse. God, I hate this," she grabbed her tummy and ran off to the toilet. I followed and saw she was covered in blood. "No pads, Mummy, oh God..."

"Stay there, I'll get you some from Stella's room." I rushed off and felt grateful there were some in Stella's en suite, she was in work. I'd tell her later. I ran to my bathroom and grabbed a face cloth and towel. Then it was back down to Livvie and clean her up enough to run her up to the bathroom and help her into the shower. \then collect up her bloody clothes and pop them in the washer before anyone saw them. It wasn't a question of embarrassment, except possibly that I hadn't handled it very well, but I don't do anything that involves any of the girl's genital area - just in case. If they ask me to help that's different, but apart from the babies, they wash themselves and dry themselves.

I did once have to help Phoebe, she got thrush and was scratching herself raw. She begged me to do something, we tried plain yoghurt, which helped a bit - she thought I was joking - then later Stella got her some ointment but she couldn't see to do it, so asked me to do it for her. Once she understood what to do, she did for herself afterwards and it cleared up in a couple of days or so.

Once we got Livvie tidied up, she and I went down the supermarket and I bought two lots of towels for her, they just stick in your knickers and if it happens in bed, you hope the pad hasn't moved - they don't always stay where you put them, and Livvie was far too young for tampons, which Stella agreed when she came home.

So it seemed I was going to have to deal with periods after all, just not my own. Hannah, started about six months later being a bit younger than Livvie and slightly smaller, apparently, they start once a girl weighs so much, six stones if I recall correctly, that's 84lbs (38kg), or thereabouts.

Danni and Trish were still running every morning, though as the days began to shorten, I told them they would have to stop in a couple of weeks because it would be too dangerous, their response was by then they'd both be much fitter. As I said before Trish was already looking leaner and fitter and wasn't as distressed as she had been at the beginning. I was really proud of her, though they'd forgotten why they were doing it and it just became part of their routine, rain or shine - though it was me who had to wash and dry their clothes when it rained - usually while trying to organise breakfast for everyone else.

I spoke to Henry by phone when he went home, and before that, I sent him healing and a message to keep to his word. It was only when I actually spoke to him, rather than sent him healing, that he told me the healing was good and several others on his ward were helped as well, but the constant nagging wasn't so welcome, so if I was going to nag him some more, he'd rather talk to the girls. He didn't appreciate almost all of them were in on his secret and asked if he would keep his word.

"Who else did you tell, your blessed secretary?"

"Uh no, and I didn't tell the girls, they helped me send you healing and all witnessed what happened."

"You expect me to believe that," he said then had a coughing fit. I could hear Monica talking to him, she took the phone. "He's had it for today, Cathy, he needs to rest now." The phone call ended summarily.

"How is Grampa Henry?" asked Livvie.

"Not so well, he's coughing again, so he's had to rest."

"Okay, want me to get the troops to send him some healing." This girl is something else, but then they all seem to be. We did a group distant healing and hoped that Henry would feel easier soon.

"I heard that people can get strokes after Covid?" said Danni quietly to me.

"It seems to have that effect on some people, and to prevent it they sometimes give anticoagulants, which can cause brain haemorrhages." I'd read about a young woman doctor in Texas who died from one after Covid and its subsequent treatment. It was very sad.

"Gosh, Gramps isn't gonna have one of those is he?"

"I hope not."

"Can't we protect him, send him extra healing to stop it?"

"The energy does its own thing, you know that, so we can ask it to help protect him but not insist on it."

"What's the bloody use then, if the friggin' thing doesn't do what you tell it?"

"Please remember there are younger children about and moderate your language, young lady."

"Yeah, sorry, but I mean what's the use?"

"It's helped him so far, when he was very ill, so don't knock it. Oh, and thanks for your help."

The next day I was in my office when I had a visit from someone who wasn't scheduled. "I'll see if she has a moment to see you," I heard Diane's voice in the outer office. As I was reading over a draft for a funding proposal from one of my departmental heads, I wasn't much in the mood for unplanned meetings however urgent they may be to the plaintiff.

"Tell them no," Diane, this bloody thing is going to take me all day to correct."

"It's Dr Dawes from Biology."

"Who?" I'd never heard of Dr Dawes and the only Dawes I could recall from the recesses of my long term memory was a creep and a bully from my Sussex days, who still owed me a tenner for making his microscope slides. Nah, it couldn't be him, I'd have vetoed it - except I don't have much to do with appointing teaching staff below reader level.

"He said it would only take a minute."

"Oh very well, any chance of a cuppa after he's gone?"

"I should think so, Professor."

"What are you after, you don't usually call me by my title."

"Which one, Professor?"

"Send him in and make the tea or I'll send you back to the salt mines."

"Oh yes, great leader," she flung over her shoulder at me. That was more like her normal attitude, "don't forget you have a lunch appointment with the Vice Chancellor."

What did Daddy want now, why couldn't we discuss it over dinner when we'll both be there and more relaxed, but no, he refused to spend time at home talking shop, yet he'd spend all evening doing paperwork that he'd taken home. Looked like I'd be doing the same tonight.

"Dr Dawes, Professor," said Diane ushering in my visitor.

"Good of you to see me at such short notice," he said his eyes all around my office which was bigger than Tom's old one. One wall was now covered floor to ceiling books and journals, the latter in metal magazine holders. I'd discovered where Wilkinson's sourced them and got fifty of them for a very good price. Along the bottom of the shelves were a series of box files in five different colours which held copies of papers I'd printed off from the internet or copied from journals or even cut out of the paper, the largest ones were on the negative effects of climate change and loss of biodiversity.

He held out his hand but I waved it away, it wasn't done while Covid was still a worry. "Oh sorry, of course," he withdrew his hand and held it by his side.

I walked away from my desk after closing the file on the funding proposal, it was all very hush-hush until we either got it or tried another source of paying for it, research was expensive and I spent increasing amounts of my time trying to prise it from organisations or governments. Now that we'd left the EU, their billions of euros would no longer be available and trying to see research to other organisations on the continent was also much harder - stupid Brexit.

"How can I help you, Dr Dawes?" I indicated he could sit if he wanted the chairs were over two metres apart.

"So this is the eyrie of the super professor? Very nice."

"Thank you, but I'm sure you didn't come to comment on my office?"

"Uh no, of course not, I was just admiring the decor."

"It's one of the oldest parts of the university, one of the few buildings the Luftwaffe didn't turn to hardcore." I wondered if he'd recognise me, I certainly recognised him and the second question was, had he grown up or was he still a prat and a bully.

"Quite, look I wondered if we could run a course online for the general public to see if we could encourage a few more students since all the Chinese have pretty well left us. The Open University do some on a site called Open Learn."

"I'm familiar with the Open Learn site and we recommend students and others to it. They have funding from the BBC and government as well as various educational charities, they've been doing it a long time."

"Yes I know, Professor Watts - you didn't have a brother who went to Sussex did you?" He digressed and looked harder at me but I doubt he'd recognise me, dressed in an expensive skirt suit and boots for the scruffy waif I'd presented as at Sussex.

"I'm an only child."

"Oh, only I knew someone at Sussex, a bit of an oddity was never sure if Charlie was a boy or a girl, he or she made very good slides, probably working as a teacher or technician somewhere in a school science department."

"I see, so what is this proposal, Dr Dawes."

"Oh that, yeah, seeing as we're having to put the first term online for students or while this crisis lasts, I wondered why we couldn't do something for the general public, see if it would generate interest in studying here."

"You mean a promotional video?"

"No, not directly, I thought we could use some of our teaching material, which wasn't too technical, and put it on our website. Didn't someone do a film on dormice which I'm told brought in a few students?"

"I did one on the dormouse and harvest mouse."

"I thought it was you, perhaps you could do the narration for a new one or series of short films."

"I don't think so, Dr Dawes."

"What about somebody else doing it?"

"Have you any costings for any or all of this?" I asked wanting to be rid of his presence.

"Uh not yet, but as we're making these videos for students anyway, I just thought we could use the off-cuts for something else rather than waste them."

"Put together a proposal and cost it and I'll put it on the agenda for the Bio-science's next meeting."

"From which it will never be heard of again, I know..."

"Actually, I quite like the idea, but I'd need to see a lot more, especially in what it would cost us. Documentary films are expensive to make, the only reason we did the two we did was High Street Banks gave us a grant."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do." He nodded and as he was leaving he spotted my degree certificate which Diane had insisted I have hanging on the wall. "You went to Sussex and got a first?"

"So did lots of people."

"Not the same year I went there. There was only one person who was bright enough to get a first, that was Charlie, what was his surname. Watts, of course, it was. C.Watts - that was you, wasn't it?"

"Except my name is Catherine."

"With all due respect, Professor, it's easy enough to change your name and if you stick to the same initial, the degree wouldn't need changing. Besides if someone as beautiful as you was at Sussex the same time as me, I'd have remembered, so would lots of men."

"Not necessarily."

He looked at me as if appraising me for the first time. "You couldn't be Charlie Watts. not with that figure and I'm pretty sure he wasn't anything like as beautiful as you."

"Unless it was she not, he." I offered and tried to look enigmatic.

"Even so, that scruffy little urchin, even if she was a girl, I'm sure she wouldn't have been able to look as lovely as you do."

"Oh well, so I'm glad we settled that one."

"Not quite, I can't believe you were at Sussex the same time as me, or why I don't remember you."

"I have changed a bit so you probably don't recognise me and I wasn't one for parties and things which is why I got a first."

"Well, you've done better than me full stop, I'm just a lowly lecturer and you're a super professor."

"Life takes its own course and we have to grab the opportunities when they present themselves. Right, I have things to do so let me have that paper when you can and I'll share it with the rest of the Bioscience group board."

"Okay, and thanks again, though you nearly frightened me to death to think you might have been Charlie Watts." He left still shaking his head and talking to himself.

"That was cruel, boss and you weren't exactly honest with him, were you," said Diane plonking the mug of tea on my desk.

"I told no lies, just let him misinterpret what I said."

"Isn't that deception?"

"Look, I don't have to explain my life choices to anyone or defend them. I'm going to take those certificates and diplomas down if you remember, I didn't want them up there in the first place."

"Fine, I'll take them down for you before I go home tonight, when you go to collect your girls. Meanwhile, drink your tea and don't forget lunch with the VC."

"All right, I haven't forgotten, he'll be along shortly as we always take my car anyway."

"Well, you'd better tidy yourself, then hadn't you?"

"Why, what's wrong with me?" I picked up the mirror I kept in the drawer of my desk and saw I hadn't put any makeup on. "Oh, okay."

"And he still couldn't recognise you - too busy looking at your boobs I expect," she offered before she strode out of my office sniggering.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3257 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

I nearly decided not to wear any makeup, but I knew we'd be going to Tom's favourite restaurant and thought I'd better look a bit nicer for him. I quickly applied some mascara and eyeliner, using the mascara first because it made getting the eyeliner even easier. A bit of eyebrow pencil on my blonde brows and then some pink-red lipstick called, 'Radiant Fuschia' or some such thing. I wonder who thinks up these names, some looney spaced out on cannabis while drifting about in a flotation tank. The thought of this made me snigger and I almost ended up with lipstick up my nose. I checked my hair and gave a squirt of Coco to my throat and misted some over my head.

I'd just finished and was glancing at mail when Daddy arrived, we hugged and he kissed me on the cheek. "If only I'd been a bit younger, young Simon widnie ha'e been in wi' a chance."

"Daddy, please, let's not discuss this any more, I love both of you and you are the best father any girl could wish for."

"Aye alricht, let's gang an' get some lunch." I grabbed my handbag, an expensive present from Henry when he'd been somewhere on the continent. He got one for Monica and Stella as well. They were all different and mine, by pure coincidence, matched the boots I was wearing. Not the old red ones that Stella gave me, these were chocolate brown Ecco ones, with a three-inch heel - so they don't only make sensible footwear.

I followed Tom out to my car and the doors unlocked as I approached close enough for the key to send a signal to the receiver in the car. The wing mirrors also swing out ready to use for driving.

We chatted about nothing much for a few minutes until I pulled up in the car park of the restaurant and we exited the car, Tom again leading the way but stopping to hold the door open for me. An old bit of oldfashioned politeness which I appreciated, unlike the youth who held open the shop door for me only to let it shut in my face, "You want equality - you got it," he called and disappeared. I didn't consider it just a courtesy to women because I hold doors open for men if I'm ahead of them and expect them to do the same to others; it's just good manners. Today we seem to have chucked out the baby with the bathwater, we got rid of deference and manners seemed to have gone with it. But then don't get me started on that topic...

The waiter brought over our drinks, daddy's Guinness and my cranberry juice, which we no longer needed to order, they just asked, 'The usual?' and we nod or Daddy says yes. We go to the same table, which has a reserved sign on it, and we oder the same meals, his a chicken curry and mine a tuna jacket with salad and coleslaw.

Before he could get started on why he wanted us to meet, I jumped in with my recent encounter with Dawes. I told him how it had gone and that Dawes had left wondering in the unthinkable was not only possible but probable. "Sae he kent Charlie?"

I nodded, "I made slides for him, he was too stupid to do his own."

"Or a certain young woman wis tae stupid tae mak him dae his ain."

I hadn't thought of it that way, and I told him that my lecturer in microscopy thought I was a girl anyway and always addressed me as Miss Watts. "Aye, weel he wis mair observant than some o' them were, including yer friend."

"He was no friend of mine, Daddy, arrogant toerag is more like it."

"Yet, ye made his slides? Why?"

I shrugged, "It was a way of earning some extra cash, I charged a fiver a slide depending on how difficult they were to make. He still owes me for two."

"Och, sae he owes ye ten poonds?"

I nodded and just then our food arrived so we stopped talking for a while and ate instead. "Cathy, I canna understand how ye could mak' slides fa' someone ye didnae like?"

"It was just a thing I did, cottage industry if you like, and paid for few meals or books."

"Aye, ye've always had a good number o' books."

"I have, can't help it, I'd skip a meal to buy a book I needed."

"I'm sure ye've done sae in thae past."

I blushed and said nothing, the erythema spreading about my face was reply enough.

"Sae how did he escape paying ye?"

"I can't remember now, I think he may have been away or sick or something."

"They weren't fa' an exam, were they?"

"No, we didn't have an exam on producing slides but they contributed to the coursework mark which I suppose affected the end of year mark."

"Sae, ye were corrupting thae system?"

"I suppose I was except the lecturer who marked the stuff knew which was mine."

"Aye, because they were much better?"

"Better than some--okay, they were better than most but I labelled the slides and he recognised the handwriting."

"And whit did ye say tae that?"

I was blushing like a beacon, "We told him I did the labels because my writing was smaller than the others. The lecturer just smiled and looked me in the eye and told me, of course, it was, Miss Watts."

"Aye, ye said he always called ye Miss."

Goodness it was getting warm, my blushes were if anything getting worse, perhaps I'm menopausal - yeah, right.

"Sae whit did thae others think?"

"I'm not sure some of them thought much at all about anything, and me even less so."

"But if ye were being addressed as Miss Watts, shouldnae Dawes hae thocht ye were a lass?"

"I don't know, I was dressed in scruffy, loose-fitting stuff, some of which was unisex, it was my way of getting my own back on my father, and besides men's clothes were too big in the waist and too tight over my backside."

He shook his head and smiled at me, looking at his watch he announced, "I've a meetin' in ten minutes."

I took the hint and we got back to the university without further ado and in just under ten minutes, the traffic was kind to us. "Dinna fa'get thon meetin' in thae morn." His parting shot reminded me I had to present some of the bids we were making to the finance committee, it was a laugh a minute stuff, not, but very important to making sure my departments stayed solvent and thus in existence. I hated letting people go - though could make an exception for Dr Dawes - nah, that makes me sound petty and I'd fight for any and every one of my staff. As for 'letting go' why don't we just say fired or sacked, because that's what it is, terminating their employment, and at my level, I get all the fun of being the discharging officer now, my departmental heads make the case for dismissal, for financial or whatever reason, but I sign the letter or in the case of misconduct, actually dismiss the member of staff. I loathe doing it, not that I expect the person concerned enjoys it exactly either.

I spent the next two hours trying to sort out the bid that we were submitting to the university council for our budget for next year, it was nearly a hundred million pounds, about half the total budget of the university. Mine was the biggest department and part of me yearned for the simple days when I was a junior lecturer uninvolved with any of this administrative business, just trying to expand young minds to encompass what I believed were the miracles of nature from the microscopic to the huge, not forgetting our part as the two-legged rat who has overrun everything and everywhere destroying everything as we go all for money. Humans are so intelligent but also very blind to the obvious at times, I sighed and wished I was out looking for dormice than playing with columns of figures. No wonder Simon is a bit strange...

At three I packed up and took a caseful of work home with me, it was going to be a long evening, thank goodness we had David to cook our dinner because tonight I'd be sending for pizza or some other take away. David had collected the girls today as I had some shopping to do on the way home. When I got there, I told the girls I had important work to do for tomorrow. That always results in them playing up and tonight I wasn't disappointed, almost before the words were out of my mouth, Trish and Livvie were at it, with Hannah joining in as well, then Cate and Lizzie started and I felt like running away. Instead, I read the riot act and sent them all to their rooms while I made myself a cuppa and went to my study.

I was doing some calculations with a machine and Danni knocked and entered. I looked up and saw she was blushing, so was it because she had disturbed me or did she have something embarrassing she wanted to talk about.

I looked at this gorgeous young woman with a pretty face and a figure to die for, she was sixteen and I wondered if this was relationship stuff or what?

She mumbled and muttered then finally, blushing just as much as I had been at lunch she asked, "Mummy, you've done a BJ haven't you?"

"If I knew what a BJ was, I might be able to answer you," I replied.

She rolled her eyes in disbelief, "Perhaps you haven't then, but I'm sure Trish said you had."

"Had what?" this was getting more circular by the moment.

"Done a blow job..."

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3258 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

I'm not sure how any of you would respond to being asked by a sixteen-year-old daughter if you had ever participated in fellatio or some other form of oral sex but my own was to blush profusely and a need to sit down. That they, my daughters, had been talking about it was bad enough but to ask me about it in person was mortifying. I didn't know what to say how to respond, I was speechless and still pouring blood into my superficial skin capillaries. A drop of sweat ran down my back from under my bra strap.

"Well?" she asked.

I was still playing for time trying to get my brain out of its blitzkrieg state, I had no idea what to say or do. "Why do you want to know?" was all my brain and mouth could assemble.

She rolled her eyes, "Why d'you think, Mummy?"

"I don't know, sweetheart, there could be any number of reasons."

"Yeah, for you maybe, but for me, there's just one. A boy I know through the soccer club wants us to go a bit further than just kissin' and cuddlin'."

At her age, I would have had no idea what to do, mind you I'm not sure I know much more now, except with Simon and we sort of work things out between us, though I did recall the first time I did give him fellatio, it was my decision and it felt right and also what I wanted to do. I can still remember looking up into his eyes and they were registering a mixture of surprise and delight. I suspect mine were just looking full of seductive lust, not an expression that was likely to appear on my face at this moment.

"How much do you like this boy?" My brain was sizzling now trying to get her to look hard at her actions and motives and not just do what some boy I didn't know wanted of her.

"He's okay, I suppose."

"Only, okay?"

Now she blushed and was twisting her fingers together in front of her. "Yeah, he's all right."

"How long have you known him?" I was still trying to gently make her think before she acted. I was embarrassed but pleased that she had come to me to talk things over, it showed we had a strong relationship and she trusted me; hopefully, it also meant she thought I was worthy of that trust. Issues of trust with teenagers is one that causes all sorts of bother with parents. Now I had to see if I could trust her to make the right decision about this boy and how far she went with him. She couldn't get pregnant, but she could get hurt and she could catch some nasty disease.

"A few weeks."

"How many is a few, two or three or half a dozen?"

"Since I started playin' again."

"So shall we say, about a month?" I offered, trying to set some sort of time frame and perhaps also make it seem shorter than she would have done. A month sounds shorter than four or five weeks.

She shrugged. "If you like," was her verbal response. She was still blushing but that could be I was embarrassing her on several fronts, including appearing analytical rather than maternal.

"So how well do you feel you know him?"

"He's okay, I already said so, geez, Mummy, this is like twenty questions," she replied with an edge in her voice. So embarrassment was turning to anger, not the direction I need to go.

"Just calm down, sweetheart, you asked me a very personal question and I'm trying to help you by understanding why you asked me..."

"Oh that's wonderful, just go all bloody scientist on me. I'm not some bloody lab rat, I'm your friggin' daughter. I came to you for advice not, a friggin' lecture." She threw up her arms and I could see some tears forming in her eyes. She stepped back towards the door and I had only a second or two to alter this.

"Please, Danielle, I just want to help, please be patient with me. It's just as new for me as it is for you." I felt my eyes glistening with forming tears.

She glared at me and I thought she would storm out. She didn't she continued to look at me tears now running down both our faces. "I'm sorry, Mummy," she said and stepped towards me and we hugged.

"I just want you to be absolutely sure you know what you're doing, I don't want to see you hurt," I said quietly to her as we hugged.

"I know, Mummy," she responded as I rubbed her back.

"Tha fact that you felt a need to talk to me about it, I much appreciate, but it also indicates that you are uncertain about it."

"I am, Mummy, how did you know?"

"If you were sure it was a good thing to do, you'd have done it regardless of what anyone else thought. That you didn't, shows some element of doubt."

"Yeah, you're right, clever clogs." She chuckled after she said this.

"I don't know what Trish was talking about but intimacies between your father and me are not up for discussion except to say we are married and have a good relationship built upon trust and love. An almost casual relationship that you are currently pursuing is very different and you need to think about it and what it says about you to the boy in question."

"What d'you mean, Mummy? Will he see me as a skank, you mean?"

"I wouldn't ever suggest that description applies to you, but he may see you as compliant or easily persuaded."

"You mean a pushover?"

"I'm not sure what I mean, sweetheart, but my advice would be, don't do anything you may regret later and then only if you are absolutely sure about it. I'm sorry if that wasn't what you wanted to hear, but I love you very much and I don't want to see you hurt."

She stepped away from me and wiped her eyes taking care not to mess up her mascara. I did the same thinking that mine was probably all over my cheeks by now. "Thank you, Mummy." She nodded as if to confirm what she's said and still wiping her face with the tissue she left my study closing the door as she went. I sat, no, slumped into my chair and looked at the pile of paperwork before me on the desk and felt like screaming.

How I was supposed to just switch off and do my paperwork I didn't know. My whole being felt unsettled and worried for Danielle. She's sixteen and on the verge of becoming a young woman, a young adult. There are so many risks and dangers out there and I know she won't want to bring all of them to me to discuss. I'm not even sure what just happened was a discussion, mind you, I wasn't sure about anything any more, I was almost shaking from my emotions being shaken by a simple question - oh boy. I wiped my eyes then looked in the mirror in my handbag, my hand was shaking as I tried to clean up my makeup.

Then something awful entered my head. Was it all a wind-up? Were those little buggers just playing with my head? Once I considered myself presentable, I rose on shaky and stiff legs and went out into the hall, Trish, Livvie and Hannah were still bickering as they did their homework at the dining table. Um, my conspiracy theory just failed. Danielle wasn't in evidence so I checked the kitchen. David was busy doing something and didn't see me. I stole up the stairs and went towards Danielle's room, the door was closed and I thought I could hear sniffing or sobbing coming from the other side. I knocked and entered to see her curled up lying on the bed and in some distress.

"Hey, what's wrong, sweetheart?" I asked sitting beside her.

"I don't know," she sort of mumbled and sobbed at me.

"Is it to do with our little chat?" I prompted.

"I don't know," she sobbed, "they'll all think I'm a skank," she said with more sobbing.

I gently rubbed her back. "You've already done it, haven't you?"

"He wanted me to...oh, Mummy, what have I done?" Copious tears followed this admission.

"Who else knows?" I asked trying to assess the problem.

"If he puts it on FaceBook, I'm dead," she sobbed.

"How old is he?"

"I don't know," she sobbed.

"Older than you?"

"Yes, we did it in his car," I deciphered from the sniffs and sobs.

"If he does post it anywhere, I'll make him wish he'd never been born. Right, calm down and let's try and see what exactly has happened and then decide what we need to do about it, okay?"

I held her and she eventually stopped sobbing drying her eyes afterwards.

"I'm dead aren't I?" she said looking at me with sore red eyes.

"No, young lady you are not, but that boy may wish he was by the time I've finished." As we hugged, sitting on her bed David banged the gong. "C'mon, dinner's ready."

"I'm not hungry, Mummy."

"So does that mean you only want half a horse tonight?" I tried to lighten the mood.

"No, I don't want anything. You go, I'll stay up here, I'll be all right."

"Muuum?" was yelled up the stairs, it sounded like Trish's foghorn.

"I'll be down in a minute," I shouted as I rose from the bed. To Danni, I said, "I'll get David to save you some, tidy yourself up and come down as soon as you can."

"I can't face the others at the moment, tell them I'm ill or something."

"I shall tell them you are getting yourself ready to come down to eat, please come as soon as you can. No one will say anything, I promise." With that, I let myself out of her room and went to marshal the troops for dinner with less than my usual appetite.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3259 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
I was too unsettled to do justice to the braised steak that David had cooked for us with his usual talent, it was lovely but my heart wasn't in it. The others asked where Danielle was and I said she wasn't feeling very well and would probably be down a bit later. They accepted that or seemed to. As we cleared up, David, who'd stayed to eat some of his own confection asked me if everything was all right. When I asked him why he'd asked, he said he could see I'd been crying and he wondered if it was related to Danni's absence. He appears to have retained some of his female intuition because Daddy was there and hadn't noticed anything.

I fobbed David off and he went back to his cottage. Danni did come down but couldn't face her dinner, so I did her scrambled egg on toast. I then left her to clear it up as I needed to get back to my university papers. I'd been at it for about an hour, sorting out the bids and so on when Daddy came round to my study and knocking let himself in. My first thought was of irritation, 'What does he want now?' Instead, he seated himself opposite me and demanded I stop my paperwork and talk with him.

"Daddy, I haven't got time for a chat, you need all this for tomorrow's meeting."

"There are mair important things than blessed paperwork."

"You won't say that if we fail to set budgets for next year."

"Aye I wull, whit's wrang wi' Danielle?"

"Not a lot, just boyfriend problems. She'll get over it."

"Wi' ye helping her, I ken she wull; but I asked whit was wrang."

"Daddy, I haven't got time for this."

"Sure ye hae, whit's mair important than your children and ma grandchildren?"

"Look, I agree in principle, but she's not seriously ill or facing any other emergency, so can we discuss this some other time."

"It's aboot sex, isnae it?"

"Who told you that?"

"I pit twa and twa together efter ye said it wis her boyfriend and sex is a very likely answer."

"I can't discuss things she told me in confidence, Daddy."

"Aye, I respect that, but ye ken where I am if ye need me." He stood and left the room leaving me back in a fluster again. Danielle came in and sat opposite me and I ignored her while I checked some figures on a calculator.

"He hasn't put the photos up yet, Mummy." Her voice was full of relief.

"Yet being the operative word, young lady. D'you know where he lives?"

"Yeah, I know the house but not the number."

"But you could take us there?"

"Yeah, I suppose so, why d'you want to go there?"

"I want to speak with him."

"Won't that make things even worse?"

"Danielle, I have the resources to destroy him and his whole family..."

"Mummy, you're frightening me..."

I raised my hand, "I don't want to harm anyone, sweetheart, I'd much rather he thought so much of you that he wouldn't wish to disrespect you."

"Oh, I thought you were thinking pre-emptive nuclear strike..."

"That's the final option. If I can ascertain if he really likes you and respects you, then I'll just thank him, ask him to delete the photos and leave."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I'll give him an ultimatum before I start destroying his life, one cell at a time."

"That's nasty, Mummy."

"I'm not usually nice to people who attack my children."

"If he posts them, I'll get them taken down double-quick, or Jason will. It's amazing what mention of, 'underage child', has upon their efficiency."

"I'm not sure if I want you to meet him."

"I'm not asking your permission, I'm insisting you tell me where he lives."

Half an hour and many tears. I was switching off the engine of my Jaguar while Danni tried to hide in the glove box. "You stay here,"

I knew his name was Michael and rang the doorbell to ask to speak with him. His mother answered the door. "Yes?" she said. I stepped back and put my face mask on to observe the covid protection procedures.

"Hi, I'd like to have a word with Michael if I may, it won't take long."

"What about?" she stayed inside the door, which was a white plastic covered thing with an awful picture of a bird in the centre of the glass panel.

"It's rather personal."

"So, I'm his mother and I don't see why an older woman would need to speak with him."

"I have a sixteen-year-old daughter."

She looked as if she was about to say something then changed her mind. "So it's about her then?"

"It's about both of them."

"So why isn't she here then?"

"She's in my car."

"If I get Michael you go and get her and we'll sort out what this is all about." It seemed a fair thing for her to say but to me, it was just going to make everything worse by a factor of ten.

"I think that isn't necessary for the moment and if it becomes so, then I shall get her."

"If you're intending to interrogate my Michael, why can't I do the same with your girl? I don't even know who you are."

"I'm Cathy Cameron, Danielle's mother."

"You'd better come in," she stepped back and I entered a very tidy semidetached house built in the 1970s with an attached garage and space to park a second car on the driveway.

She called him down and this gangly youth appeared looking a bit perplexed with me standing in their lounge. "This lady would like to speak with you about you and Danielle, her daughter."

He shook his head, "Don't think I know any Danielles." His mother looked slightly relieved and was about to dismiss him and me shortly afterwards when I asked if he played football.

"He plays for Pompey youth team, why?"

"Danielle plays for their ladies team."

He caught his breath, and he knew damn well who I was talking about.

"You do know her, she's the best female player in Portsmouth and possibly the whole of the UK."

"Yeah, I've met a few times."

"You persuaded her to go out with you and had intimacies with her in your car." His mother was about to say something and I put my hand up to her to be quiet, "I'm not condemning you for that, but she seemed to think you had photos of the event on your phone and you were going to put them on the internet. That I will not allow."

He blushed and mumbled something.

"Have you taken these photos?" demanded his mother.

"No, course not."

"So let me see your phone then?" she asked him and he reluctantly took it from his trouser pocket and she tore it from his hand.

"This what you're on about?" she said passing me the phone. I looked hesitantly and nodded, she deleted each of them. "Happy now?"

"Happier, thank you."

"I know you, don't I?"

"Do you?" I said back to her.

"You're at the university aren't you?"

"I work there, yes."

"So do I, in the general office, you're a professor or something, aren't you but I thought it was a different name you used there?"

"Yes, Professor Catherine Watts."

"I knew it, aren't you married to some banker bloke?"

"Yes, Simon Cameron."

"He's a lord or something isn't he?"

"Yes," I was blushing now.

"My husband works for his bank."

"Oh, I see." I blushed some more as she realised that had I felt unhappy with her or her son, retribution could have been swift and overwhelming and both of them could have been unemployed very quickly.

"I'd better go," I said and moved towards the door.

"Goodnight, Lady Cameron," she said and shut the door and a moment later she was blinding her son, "You stupid little fool, d'you who she is? She could have destroyed us without any effort at all. Leave the bloody girls alone you stupid moron..."

I got back into the car waking the snoozing Danielle. "Oh, you're back," she said sleepily.

"Yes, and he won't post them on the net."

"What?" she said almost in surprise.

"The photos you were concerned about have been deleted."

"Oh yeah, thanks, Mummy," she leant over to kiss me and I hugged her as much as the seat belts would allow.

"Please don't see him again, darling," I asked her firmly.

"No, okay, Mummy, I don't think he was my type anyway."

"Glad to hear it." I started the car and was pulling off from the kerb when she added,

"His dick was too small."

How I didn't hit the car in front of me, I'll never know but she laughed uproariously until the tears ran down her cheeks.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3260 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

Having sorted out Danielle's immediate problem we returned home and I set to with my pile of paperwork again. The result was I stayed up too late and drank too much tea, so sleep that night was short and made worse by several visits to the loo - so much for decaffeinated tea.

After a night of deprived sleep, I was not in the best of moods at breakfast and unfortunately let it be known. By the time I left for work, David had agreed to convey the girls to school in the VW people carrier as he wanted to do some shopping afterwards, I was ready to poke someone. Diane came close to being the chosen one as she hassled me for a number of items she was working on while I was trying to get myself ready to attend the meeting with Tom and the finance committee to try and protect my funding. It was therefore not an opportune time for Dr Dawes to come calling, especially as his mood was only fractionally better than mine.

"Professor, you lied to me," he declared sidestepping an exasperated Diane.

I had a pile of folders in my arms and I glared at him and dropped them noisily on the desk. "I did not lie to you nor have I got time to discuss this with you now. Besides, it's a personal matter and no business of yours anyway."

"What?" he said in a raised voice, "that you lied to me, that you're pretending to be a woman to all the people in this university who should be told the truth..."

"Come back later, Diane will tell you when I'm free. I have no time now to discuss it, I have a meeting to attend and if I don't get there, my budgets could well be cut and in which case I may have to make people redundant."

"Trying to threaten me, are you?"

"No you're far too fucking stupid for that, now get out of my way." I picked up the files and my handbag, placed my ipad on top of the files and stormed out of the room. I didn't wait to listen to what went on between Dawes and Diane if anything did, but I suspect she would have told him where to go in no uncertain times. We squabble quite regularly but I know she would cover my back in almost any situation, so I expected her to send him off with a flea in his ear. If he did return later and wanted trouble, I would oblige him in spades, but for now, I had my attention on keeping my research grants and other budgets afloat.

The meeting in Tom's office was less than enjoyable and my hostility made him glare at me a couple of times but I wasn't conceding anything to anyone unless they tore it out of my hands. After the finance people left, Tom looked at me and I felt an element of disappointment in him.

"Weel, ye've kept yer money but lost respect frae thae accountants."

"Quite honestly, Daddy, I don't give a shit. These bloody things lost me sleep last night, have consumed far too much of my time and kept me from supervising research students which is what I feel is my real job. We are an academic establishment with a growing reputation and I want to maintain that status not crawl to bloody accountants to beg for enough money to do it."

"Aye, I think ye made that plain enough to all concerned."

"Sorry if I wasn't in my sweetest temper, but at least keeping my budgets has lifted my spirits a little."

"Aye, sae some lunch wi' me should increase that boost then, won't it?"

Inside I groaned, I was hoping for a cuppa soup and a snooze in my office before the next load of irritants appeared on my desk. "Okay, give me a few minutes to dump this lot, " I nodded at the pile of files I had to carry back to my office. "See you at the car, in a few minutes."

I almost ran back to my office, okay sort of trotted - well you try it in stilettos - and dumped the files and my ipad on the desk and was out again before Diane could say anything or stop me. I could wait for bad news until after I had a tuna jacket potato in my belly - then I'd face anything, even an enraged secretary.

It was with some apprehension that I walked quietly out to my car, if Dawes was lurking I'm not sure what I would have done but sweet-talking him was not one of them. Laying him out might have been, though this skirt was too tight to lift my leg high enough to kick him very hard. I was referring to a rose pink two-piece suit I was wearing with a lapelled jacket and pencil skirt with a kick split in the back. The skirt length came to about mid-thigh. I may be a professor, but I'm still a relatively young woman, so I'm not ready for an old folk's home just yet. Thinking of my age reminded me I had a birthday in less than a month's time. Oh poo, I'll be thirty-seven, mind you I felt about seventy-seven first thing this morning.

Thankfully, Daddy appeared before any sign of Dawes materialised so we got in the car and I drove off post-haste. He had noticed my unease and asked me who I was trying to avoid and in a moment of weakness, I explained about my earlier encounter with Dawes. He nodded and told me not to worry.

I replied my main worry was not doing him any physical harm, Dawes, that is, as I was sure a good kicking would have done him the world of good - well okay - I'd have felt better. But I knew it wasn't going to happen, I had to keep my cool and deal with it in a sangfroid sort of way. Actually, despite his accusations, I had no desire to harm him at the same time I had no intention of justifying my existence to someone who had no need to hear it. It was, however, distracting and in my tired state more than I wanted to cope with.

At the restaurant, Tom asked me about Danielle's dilemma and I was able to tell him what had happened including her declaration of contempt for a piece of the anatomy of her would-be suitor. He chuckled loudly, especially when I told him about nearly running into the car in front when she said it. So my mood lifted a little helped by him acknowledging that I had given up my evening and some of my beauty sleep to dealing with the papers for his meeting. The food was enjoyable though I needed to go to the loo before we drove back to the university, having partaken of two mugs of coffee at the meeting which helped to keep me awake but was now exercising my bladder control.

When I returned he was in the act of closing up his phone and putting it back in his pocket. He rarely seemed to use his phone and I assumed he had received a call from his secretary so said nothing. We walked to the car and I drove us back to the university campus, when we alighted from the Jaguar, instead of walking off to his own office, which is across the campus, he began to escort me to mine.

"Aren't you going to your own office?" I asked casually in case he thought I was too frail to walk to my own alone.

"Nah, I'm coming tae yer office for a wee moment."

That struck me as ominous. Why would he come to my office, what was going on? The easiest way to find out was to ask him directly, so I did. His answer saw off my improved mood which dropped to one of increasing belligerence. Instead of feeling relaxed, I was now girding my loins for trouble. It transpired that Tom had called Diane while I was in the toilet and she told him that Dawes would return to see me at two o'clock. It was ten to that now.

"It's okay, Daddy, I can deal with pond life like him, remember I used to make slides out of specimens like him," I said trying to reassure him that I would have things under control.

"Aye, weel, jest in case ye dinna, I'll come alang tae see fair play an' mak sure ye dinna say or dae onything ye regret later."

"Daddy, I'm a big girl now, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Aye, I hae noticed and it's in all the richt places," he smirked as we climbed the steps to my office. It's kind of him to want to protect me, or was it Dawes, he was protecting? Oh boy, would I be glad to see this day over?

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3261 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

"Well if it isn't Lady Sweetness and Light," declared Diane as I led Tom into my office. I glanced at the clock, it was about seven minutes to the hour. Dawes could be here at any one of them. I wasn't sure if I wanted a cuppa or not, Daddy was in no such uncertainty and replied in the affirmative when asked by my super secretary.

At that moment, Dawes appeared and replied positively to Diane's question, she didn't ask me, she just handed me my dormouse mug with its recently boiled contents. She settled down at her desk and the remaining three of us retired to my office and the meetings table I had there. I passed the other two a coaster mat to rest their mugs on. It felt like High Noon with two gunslingers eyeing each other up, waiting for the slightest twitch before pulling their guns and blasting each other. But this is a university, supposedly a place of learning and I had a small statuette of the Mattei Athena, a copy of the statue in the Louvre which I bought when we went to Paris. She is the Greek goddess of Wisdom, so appropriate for an institution dedicated to learning but also the goddess of battle, which may have been appropriate to my situation at present. I gave her a nod as we sat down. Well, it couldn't do any harm could it, mind you if I'd seen her nod back, I would probably have left the office rather quickly.

"I apologise for my unseemly behaviour this morning, your secretary explained that you'd worked late into the night for your meeting and as you said it was an important meeting. I hope that you won't have to lay off any staff, though after my behaviour this morning, couldn't blame you if I was on the top of any such list."

I nearly choked on my tea. I thanked him for his apology and told him that I had no plans for any redundancies at present as I'd received a promise of all the funding I required to keep the status quo. He shot me a relieved glance. Daddy simply sat and drank his tea waiting for the bell to ring to start round one. It didn't happen. Dawes and I eyed each other for a few more seconds before I asked him why his attitude had changed.

"Your secretary sat me down and over a cuppa, she explained a few things including the fact that you were androgen insensitive which means you could never have been a boy let alone a man. I also spoke to Professor Herbert and he confirmed that you were female and had nursed two or three babies. I was wrong and I apologise."

I didn't know how I felt at that moment, anti-climactic didn't quite describe it, relieved would be in the description somewhere, but sad also featured. Sad that I had sounded like a fishwife earlier and that he had felt I was spiteful enough to sack him, yet I didn't get the impression he was trying to prevent that by an about-turn, rather he would have accepted it was my right to sack someone who had behaved so inappropriately. Yeah, confused might be another descriptor to add to the mix.

Daddy looked at me, he hadn't said anything presumably because he hadn't needed to but his stare suggested that I needed to and I did so. "Dr Dawes, I accept your apology, and I appreciate you admitting you were in the wrong. It took quite a while for the doctors to discover what was wrong with me and to rectify it, so there are a few people here who thought I was someone who had been male like you did because that was what my parents thought I was."

"I remember half the university thought you were a girl pretending to be a boy rather than a boy wanting to be a girl. Being a hapless male, I didn't know what to think, but to me, Charlie was a boy's name, so assumed that was what you were albeit a very feminine one. The labelling you did on microscope slides was so small and neat it was only something a girl could have done, now I think about it. They always referred to you as Miss Watts in the lab, didn't they?"

I nodded.

"I thought they were just teasing you, but they weren't were they?"

I shrugged. "I didn't ask them or challenge it, it felt comfortable..."

"Because it was right," he interrupted and I nodded. "When I look at you now, I can't really equate you with that scruffy urchin who did those slides for me, you're a very beautiful woman, talk about metamorphosis doesn't go anywhere near it.

Tom looked at his watch, "I'll jest leave ye tae it, then."

I nodded and he rose from his seat and left and we heard him talking with Diane for a couple of minutes afterwards.

"Sorry, who was that?" asked Dawes.

"The Vice-Chancellor."

"Oh," he looked rather pale for a moment.

"He's also my adopted father."

He blenched even more and I did wonder if the word nepotism went through his mind. "Right," he said and then went quiet.

"Don't worry, he was here to protect you rather than me."

"Oh, I'm not sure if I find that a comfort or not."

"I may be female but I won't back down from a fight as a few people have discovered to their cost."

"So the rumours are true?"

"What rumours?" I had an idea what he was talking about but wanted to make sure.

"That you laid out some Russian thug who had a gun and also another thug who was trying to steal laboratory equipment."

I shrugged, "I was lucky, I guess."

"I don't think so, Professor, the stories of the fighting Scottish aristocrat are also something of the culture here, though we couldn't be much further from Scotland while remaining in the United Kingdom. But those are about you aren't they?"

"Are they. I don't know, I haven't heard them."

"I think you were there at the time, Lady Cameron. This morning I came looking for a fight because I had mistakenly thought you had deceived me. Now I discover you're like a pocket battleship and would have destroyed me had we come to blows, metaphorical or otherwise. I have learned that you are a lady of some determination but also of some compassion- they told me about the student you helped who died of AIDS. I feel honoured to be working for you and once again I apologise for my earlier behaviour."

He held out his hand and I took it, he pulled mine to his lips and kissed it in a very old fashioned manner. "Your servant, Milady," he said and turned towards the door.

"Dr Dawes, no one works for me, they work with me."

He nodded and bowed then left, saying goodbye to Diane on the way out. I sat in the chair and felt exhausted. Diane came in, "More tea, Professor?"

"No thank you, Diane, I think I'm going home, but thank you for your assistance in dealing with Dr Dawes."

"Oh that, stupid man, I just told him the facts of life and he went off like a lamb. Just now he said he really admired you and looked forward to working with you in the future. He also said to give you this," she waved a ten-pound note at me."He said he owed it to you for making some slides for him, a while back."

"Yes, quite a while back, like nearly twenty years."

"He also said he'd get on with the film details you asked him for - did I miss something there?"

"No just a project he suggested and I told him to put together a bid and I'd take it to the science committee and see if we could fund it."

"So, are you going to be in another film?"

"I don't think so, Diane, not the sort he's talking about although I may do some of the narration if I feel like it."

"Well, lots of actors do voice-overs don't they, make big money some of them."

"I married megabucks, Diane, I don't need to work for it as well." That admission came out without me being aware it was even in my mind let alone my mouth."

"Yes, I suppose you did, Lady C. but I'm glad you still turn up for work 'cos life is more interesting when you do, like Professor Agnew says, you seem to be something of a catalyst for things to happen."

"Glad you're enjoying it, I'm going home before something else happens." I picked up my bag and went home.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3262 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

I spent a very strange evening and night at home, where the children were better behaved than I'd expected given the morning squabbles and then Hannah took me to one side to say, "I'm on the rag, Mummy." I nearly fell over. Having regained my composure explained that it wasn't a nice expression to use though I suspect I knew where it came from, which she confirmed. It also explained why she'd been a bit testy the last couple of days. It was her first period, though she seemed to know as much about them as I did without necessarily appreciating, she would have them for another forty years. I took her upstairs and gave her a box of pads and put a draw sheet on her bed.

"I'm not going to wet the bed, Mummy," she said looking indignantly at me.

"I know that sweetheart, but sometimes it leaks out past the pad."

"Okay," she shrugged, "you have more experience than I do," she said without any sense of irony and skipped back down the stairs. I suspected that she had forgotten my alternative route to womanhood, temporarily at least. I wasn't sure if I felt comforted by that or not.

Simon phoned from London, to thank us for keeping Henry alive, he was making good progress and they hoped he would be out of hospital in the next day or so. I did continue to send him healing when I remembered, but last night it had eluded my memory and besides, I was so tired I couldn't afford either the time or the effort. Tonight I would try to remember and left myself a note, which was spotted by Trish who told the others and they wanted to take part in a group session again, for Grandpa Henry. I felt humbled but also encouraged by it, especially when they all agreed.

Tom came in and asked me into his study. That was unusual. "Weel, whit's gang tae happen wi' Dawes?"

"I'll play it by ear, but I have accepted his apology. Why?"

"Frae whit ye telt me afore, he wis transphobic an' aggressive w it."

I nodded. "Diane has already sent him a copy of the university's policy on diversity and equality with a letter asking for him to say that he's read it and understands it. I think it points out quite clearly that no prejudice against any minority will be tolerated."

"Aye, but keep it on his record whit happened and his volte-face and yer reaction tae it. I canna abide bigots."

"I don't know if it he believed that I had deceived him that made him blow up or that he's fancied me and found I wasn't quite what he thought I was."

"That's irrelevant, Cathy, and I want ye tae keep yer eye on him, any slight deviation from the policy and he goes, an' if ye dinna sack him, I wull."

I was slightly taken aback by his irritation with what had happened, but it seemed to get right up his nostril and he was possibly trying to sneeze it out by laying down the law. I was secretly pleased by his support for me, but when I thought about it, I should have expected it. He was very protective of his family and I loved him for it, as did his grandchildren.

I went to bed after we did the healing for Henry, just after I'd seen Danni and the others off to bed. I think I went off as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was so tired but the night was filled with strange dreams and not as restful as it might have been. One was a flashback to the biology lab, prep room where I used to play for hours slicing things on microtomes to make slides having treated them with various chemicals then soaking them in wax or placing them in between bits of cork to enable them to be sliced. Sometimes we used carrot instead of cork as it was easier to slice.

I was in the lab when ol' Butterworth, addressed me as MIss Watts and asked if I could provide a sample of menstrual blood for slides. I felt myself blush and stutter an answer which he pooh-poohed and asked me again. It seemed to be on some sort of recurring tape because it happened several times, each time I got hotter and hotter. Of course, it never happened and never would because the question would be outrageous and inappropriate even in those days and besides, Butterworth was a lovely old chap, a proper old gent and I loved him for it because he treated me with courtesy as he would any of the other women. I still woke up in a sweat though and had to go to the loo when I did. It took me a little while to get back to sleep after that as I mused on the dream.

The next morning it was back to the usual bedlam of breakfast on a working day and the girls playing up. Thankfully, David came to make breakfast and when he offered bacon and eggs, I couldn't refuse. I couldn't remember when I'd last had this comfort food and the girls scoffed down some as well. He took them off to school while I loaded the dishwasher and then scrambled off myself afterwards.

Breakfast was probably the high point of my day, except I wanted to say thank you to Diane for yesterday. So I bought her some Lindt chocolates on the way in. She did the usual thing of, 'You shouldn't have,' while dumping them in her bag very quickly, possibly before I took them back.

Daddy phoned at ten, while Diane and I were up to our eyeballs in paperwork, to invite me to lunch and I told him I was going to take Diane to lunch as she'd given up hers a couple of times during the past week, and he invited her as well. When I told her, she shook her head and reminded her that he was the Vice-Chancellor and only I ever said no to him ( and probably his secretary did also ) but not lowly life forms like my secretary. She shrugged and muttered as we searched for a contract I needed to see. Normally her filing system was faultless, so she muttered severally that I must have removed it earlier or never given it to her.

"Diane, the only thing I file in this office is my nails, everything else I leave to you because if I upset your system there'd be hell to pay."

"So it should be, but professor, I only file what you give me."

"But I'm sure I did. I took it home to work on it and..." I blushed.

"You left it there. I think you owe me an apology for all this mess I shall have to clear up before we go to lunch."

"Okay, I apologise, I'll help you to refile it all."

"Oh no you won't, if I do it, I know it's in proper order. Last time you helped it took me a week to sort it out. So go and make the tea and let me get on, um...professor." I caught her blushing just a fraction proving she wasn't a machine, though if she was she was the first one I knew which ran on expensive chocolate. I made the tea and retreated to my inner office to drink it remembering I had a couple of Lotus biscuits in my desk drawer--except when I looked they weren't there. I tried to shove the drawer back in as she entered my room.

"You ate them last week," she said grabbed some files and disappeared behind the closing door. I simply sat and shook my head, that woman was something else.

Tom duly turned up at nearly half-past twelve and Diane had not long finished refiling everything. I wondered if she'd file the biscuits under B or L. I nearly asked her but thought better of it because she'd only come back at me with, "Under H for Hobnobs." or something similar.

We went to lunch and once she told Tom how much extra work I caused her, we settled down to a pleasant meal. When she slipped off to the loo before we left the restaurant, Tom told me he was nagged by his secretary every bit as much as I was. When she returned she gave us both a strange look because we were smiling at his revelation. Driving back I was thinking of the old sign I'd once seen in a pub which proclaimed, 'I'm the boss, my wife said so,' which caused me to have a very uncomfortable thought. If translated to my situation, it would read, 'I'm the boss, my secretary said so.' In which case was I acting like a husband and she as a wife? Pretty well all the secretarial staff across the university were women, there was one man but he was gay, not that was a consideration, and his boss was a woman.

In the end, I reconciled myself to the fact, that I was a female, just a high status one and we all had minions, then I looked at Diane and blushed, if she ever read my mind, she'd kill me.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3263 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

Once I got home, I checked with Hannah that she was okay about her period and she smiled back and said she was fine. I also suggested that if I couldn't help, Stella might, being a nurse and a biological female I didn't add. "It's okay, Mummy, I'm coping and with your help, we'll be fine. Auntie Stella may be a nurse, but you're my mum." She strolled off to finish her homework before I could do anything but gasp. These kids were something else and I wondered what I'd done to deserve them, but I was glad I'd got them.

With the lockdown, Julie and Phoebe couldn't come to visit us, but we spoke regularly on the phone and had even Zoomed a few times. It wasn't the same as seeing them face to face, but it was better than nothing and the littlies loved it. I also booked in for a trim with Julie for when the lockdown was stopped but she just told me to ask Stella if I was urgent and she confided that Stella was actually a very competent cutter. I was pleased she'd said that because I'd felt that ever since she had first cut my hair that fateful day she knocked me off my bike and into my female life. I would never be able to thank her for that at the same time I wasn't that keen on sitting in a car that was she was driving as she continued to frighten the haggis out of me.

When I asked her over dinner if she could trim my hair she nodded and then said anyone else? and they all put their hands up. I saw her swallow and blush slightly. However, after a cuppa, she duly cut my hair and put in some more blonde highlights and while I was waiting to be washed out, she cut all the little one's hair, then trimmed Danni's and put in bright pink highlights and left the blushing teen sitting next to me in the kitchen.

Of course, Trish wanted them but in green to match her school uniform, so did Hannah and Livvie, just to be different asked if hers could be red or blue. When I was about to say something, I was told to get with it. I shut up and let Stella finish with my locks and then I could go and hide in my study. I suppose, I shouldn't really complain, they could have dyed all their hair one silly colour or multiple ones. I nearly ran over one of our students earlier when she crossed a road junction without looking and she was a vision in black clothing with fishnet stockings and bright purple hair. Perhaps I am a little out of date.

I thanked Stella on mine and the girl's behalf, she shrugged and then tidied up the hair of her own two girls, neither of whom had any colour changes despite the girls asking for them. It was something of a puzzle that Stella had her girls go to a different school to the convent mine attended, when questioned about it she simply said she sent them where she felt they got the best education though as far as I could see, the school they went to was less well regarded than St Claire's. Oh well, that was her business I suppose but it niggled me at times though why I couldn't really say. Maybe she wanted them to attend a non-religious school, though mine had managed to survive without too many problems caused by any religious conflict between me and the school, my response being that agnosticism was good enough for Darwin, so it was good enough for me.

Thinking of the great man, I saw that someone had taken two of his notebooks about twenty years ago and felt very angry about it. Surely, no one could ever collect on the theft as the items were unique, and therefore anyone who bought them, would be unable to show them in a collection, so why steal them? And from whom were they stealing them? Not just Cambridge University, who should be ashamed for losing the precious artefacts, but the whole world as these objects were irreplaceable. I hoped the thief rotted in hell as well as in this life, which was a slight contradiction in my beliefs.

To my mind, Darwin's books were sacred texts, much more so than bits of papyrus from the first centuries AD. We knew who wrote the former but not the latter and also the reasoning behind it. Understanding evolution, one of the main drivers in nature was far more important than religious belief, which only reflected upon the inadequacy of humans, who had the capacity to become gods when they cooperated rather than worship inexplicable beings who had no basis in any factual evidence at all and then elevated an insignificant preacher to the godhead, with similar lack of any evidence to support it. To my mind, it demonstrated the triumph of superstition over critical thought. Still, that sort of sums up humanity, irrational to the nth degree.

I considered my own experiences and for instance the healing we sent to Henry or that I had directly been involved in. I steadfastly refused to believe in supernatural events of any sort and grouped my so-called experiences of dealings with the goddess as being some sort of brain fart or dream state. Often the memories were fuzzy anyway and could easily be construed to be some sort of daydream rather than a real experience and it was well known that we have difficulty distinguishing between them, especially vivid ones plus it is also well established that people can fool themselves into thinking something happened if they desire it enough or to have it implanted in their memories by others, such as in false memory syndrome, which I was sure was what happened in many so-called mass experiences claimed by religion to be evidence. Evidence of what though, was another matter. Hysteria is another heightened situation in which unreal events can appear to happen the same with the unreliability of humans as witnesses to events. Plus the manipulation of such events by individuals or groups to further their own ends.

We were living in times which had so much data flying around and of which a significant amount was questionable. Presidential elections had been fought and won using questionable material. Disputes were still being fought sometimes with no evidence being offered at all, but thanks to social media, millions believed it. There were numbers of people who believed the 5G network carried Coronavirus when there was no evidence to show how or why?

Morons in the developing world were preaching that vaccines to stop polio being offered by humanitarian groups funded by the likes of Bill Gates, were really drugs to make them infertile or some other such nonsense. These were on the same scale of nonsense that had people believing that ground rhino horn or pangolin scales held magical qualities and led to poaching and increased likelihood of extinction for these species. Many folk medicines were based upon equally unreliable evidence or purely on the anecdotal variety and people misunderstanding correlation of two unrelated things as cause and effect. Such as it rained on Thursday and I had a headache on Thursday, so the rain caused my headache. Clearly, they aren't linked except they both happened on Thursday and it would be equally unwise to link either to the fact that I have headaches on Thursdays, so it must be the day which caused them. Fallacious reasoning happens in all types of human experience partly because there is no scientific or logical method involved and the facts aren't investigated properly or fully.

When I was teaching, I used to spend hours trying to make students aware of looking at data critically and not making correlations without checking things fully and even then not drawing conclusions when there weren't any, such as tabloid newspapers and politicians do all the time. Even scientists do it when they become too involved in the thing they are investigating and lose objectivity.

I was involved in these thoughts when Trish tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Daddy is on the phone, why don't you answer it?" I jumped out of my skin, not having heard it despite it being in the same room, so deep in thought was I.

"Hello?" I said picking up the handset.

"Hi Babes, I'm hoping to get home as soon as lockdown will let me. So should be home for your birthday."

"You will?" I asked trying to work out what he was on about.

"Yeah, lockdown is supposed to be over on the second and your birthday is on the third. So I can come home for your birthday."

"Right," I replied, "Oh that will be good." I was still trying to bring my mind out of its philosophical bent and try to link it with the now. It didn't want to do so. I glanced at my desk calendar and saw that next Wednesday was the second of December and therefore Thursday must be my birthday. Shit, perhaps I was going to have a headache because it was Thursday after all.

"Yeah, isn't it?" he continued on the phone and I felt momentarily lost.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3264 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
Number 3264 = 272 dozen
I woke to a chorus of 'Happy Birthday' and the realisation that I was thirty-seven years old and that Simon was in the bathroom showering and that we'd made love twice last night and something was sore down below, probably friction burns or something.

I had just about woken up when Simon returned from the shower and kissed me in front of all the younger children. Danni was apparently in her shower getting ready for school and I told the others to go and do likewise as I needed to shower quite a lot myself and change the bedclothes which smelt a little too much of the aroma of our earlier activities.

It was good to have Simon home, even for one day, though he'd managed to push that to two and would be home for Friday as well, though sadly I wouldn't be I had meetings both days via Zoom at my office. He'd protested that I could do that from home, which was true, but not while he was trying to get my attention or tickle me which I knew he'd do.

"My birthday breakfast was over rather quickly as I accepted various presents and cards and placed them on the sideboard and said I would open them when I got home and they could all help me do so. That was enough to stop the little ones grumbling but the middle ones, Trish, Livvie and Hannah grumbled loudly. Danni seemed to understand and smiled her acceptance after handing me something wrapped in blue crepe paper.

Things calmed down when Simon agreed to take the schoolgirls to school in the VW enabling me to sneak off while he was loading them in. I was certainly sore down below but at least I couldn't see any blood and the shower helped ease it along with a dollop of antiseptic cream which I rubbed in very gently. It was certainly very tender and I put a pad in my panties to give some extra protection as well as mop up any cream which would otherwise have soaked into my panties.

On my desk was a card from Diane and packet of the Lotus biscuits which made me smile. The motto on the card was rather corny, Eat drink and be merry - because tomorrow we get fat and wrinkled. To which she had added, Only because we ate, drank and were merry. I glanced in the mirror by the door and wondered if the wrinkles had already started, then started laughing. Diane looked at me strangely. "Oh, it was something I saw in a staff toilet years ago." She looked curious and asked me to continue having got her attention. "It was silly really, it said, 'Go bra-less, it'll pull the wrinkles out of your face.'

"That might work in your case, not sure if anyone would notice in my case," she fired back at me. I glanced down at my bulging chest since I'd breastfed my breasts had grown quite a bit and I wouldn't be able to go far without wearing a bra, it would hurt. When I thought back to the day Stella crashed into the back of my bike, my figure had changed significantly from rather small boobs and skinny behind to rather well upholstered, as Simon might express it. I seemed to be turning into an overstuffed sofa, so maybe I needed to go on a diet and begin riding my bike again. It wasn't causing me to get out of breath to tie my shoelaces rather it meant I had difficulty seeing them when I bent down. I was only a C cup but back when Stella and I first met, I was an A cup using bra fillers to aid the illusion that I was trying to project on the unwary world. Mind you, in those days every bit of me was thinner then and I was probably half a stone or seven pounds lighter.

We had a quick cuppa and the cakes I'd brought in were eaten with the teas. Then it was time to look through the notes I'd made for my meeting and opening up the Zoom meeting and admitting the others.

The meeting went on for nearly two hours, but it was the departmental committee and I did mention I wanted to find some money within the budget for recruitment of new students and outlined the idea of a film that Dawes had been talking about and the costs he'd calculated, to which I'd added another couple of thousand because these things always go over budget.

We were using an Adobe programme for teaching the students via the internet and these were mainly as tutorials with slide presentations using PowerPoint. Students were complaining that they weren't paying for this but for proper lectures and I honestly agreed with them but we couldn't allow the virus to spread if we could help it and going online, albeit temporarily, was the quickest way to offer some sort of education. To many, I suspect getting the full student experience was probably the intention of developing cirrhosis of the liver and alcohol-induced brain damage while sharing sexually transmitted diseases between themselves.

When I thought back to my student experience it was very different and I suspect, I could have coped with studying in a convent, so asocial was my existence as an undergrad. But given my confusion of gender social roles, I'd have had difficulties anyway, even in today's much more enlightened system, though I see they are stopping puberty blockers for under sixteen-year-olds except by permission from a court. I could see both sides of the argument but worried that perhaps the pendulum was beginning to swing back to the right and less tolerance. The present government were conservative with a large and small C despite their leader's enjoyment of being seen as libertarian, allowing people to do their own thing as long as it was the way he wanted them to do it.

When I went to university it was the first time I'd really lived away from home and I had a room of my own but very little money to take advantage of it, so I had about two outfits I could wear to be myself - or to try and show an outward manifestation of how I felt inside. To transsexuals, and I was one, the clothes are just that, an outward manifestation of what we feel inside, the desire is to change the body not necessarily the clothing, though it helps to guide the observer into what we want them to see. Being AIS, androgen insensitive meant I didn't develop a proper male body so I missed out on muscles and broad shoulders, hairy chest and deep voice, though I didn't quite develop a female phenotype until I got oestrogens which gave me a puberty that increased my breast and bum and possibly increased my pelvic width a little as my legs are less straight than the usual male.

It has always struck me as ironic, that while I wanted my femaleness to be recognised I was terrified of showing it and I spent most of the time hiding my body in grungy loose-fitting clothes, which became increasingly women's ones because they fit better. My hips were too wide for men's trousers, and shirts and jackets began to look like I was a child or daughter who'd borrowed their dad's clothes, but they hid things even if I looked like a refugee from an Oxfam shop. Possibly I looked like someone who was suffering from an eating disorder and was trying to hide it, whatever way I looked, it didn't encourage social contact, which was how I liked it, except childhood and adolescence is when we learn how to interact as adults. When we're young, we are allowed to make mistakes to practice our roles until we are able to handle relationships as adults which often involve having children and rearing them.

By watching other girls and women, I was quite good at looking and acting superficially as one and it felt absolutely right for me, but because I didn't much interact with boys or girls, except in a very limited sense, I was clumsy and gauche which even Simon picked up on, and he wasn't the most observant of people. So I didn't know how to deal with unwanted or wanted advances from males or females because I hadn't rehearsed them as an adolescent, so I was fine sashaying across the stage as Lady Macbeth which was all stereotypical stuff and practised movements, but I couldn't tell an unwanted admirer to clear off because I didn't know how. I accept that I've caught up to some extent now helped by Stella and of course being married to Simon, so I only need to refer any unwanted attention to him - it tends to evaporate rather quickly.

Also, I have a whole gaggle of girls who I've attempted to give the opportunity to grow into their roles as women, so they can experiment with relationships as much as they do with fashions and makeup. I so hope they do better than I did, although I am not complaining, I am so lucky to have someone who loves me and that I love equally back and a family who love me too as much as I love them.

"You okay?" asked Diane as I was about to start sniffing from my reverie.

"Yeah, just counting my blessings - you couldn't pass me the calculator could you...?"

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3265 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
"Calculator? Oh I see, thou art wealthy in blessings, as well as materially," said Diane passing me the calculator.

"I was speaking metaphorically," I said shaking my head.

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" she complained at me.

"I thought you understood me quite well, perhaps you don't, or not as well as I thought you did."

She shrugged, "You have one message."

"Not from Daddy, is it?"

"Um - how did you guess?"

"He wants to take me for lunch?"

"Spot on."

"I wish he wouldn't."

"Why? He's a lovely old chap."

"I know that I've been looking after him for the past ten years."

"I think he's looked after you as well, hasn't he?"

"I suppose he has. What time did he say?"

She looked at her watch, "In about five minutes."

I gasped, then dashed towards the loo we have. "Dunno what you're smirking at, missus, you're coming as well, so sort yourself out."

"What?" she gasped.

"You heard me, if you're there he won't bore me to death with the same old stories."

"Oh, I see, he'll bore me instead..."
"No he won't, he'll talk about all sorts of things, he always does in company, especially attractive women."

"Gosh, I didn't think you'd noticed - recognition at last," she said making a dramatic sweep of her arm.

"Never mind hamming it up, get yourself sorted." She went into the loo as I came out, much of our conversation being through the half-open door and I'd only gone in there to check my hair and lipstick and squirt a little of the perfume in my bag, Coco by Chanel. It was one of my favourites along with No. 5. The fact that I could smell it at least showed I didn't have Covid and apparently, it's also one of the first signs of certain sorts of dementia.

The things you see in the newspapers are sometimes quite scary, this is a sign of that or that is a sign of this - both incurable, of course.

Daddy had already wished me a happy birthday, so I hoped he wasn't going to do so again before or during lunch. I really didn't want any more fuss than was absolutely necessary and besides, Simon was taking me out tonight and I didn't really want to eat too much either. Still, I was quite peckish and I suppose I could force down a tuna salad if I really tried.

Daddy arrive agreed happily to have Diane accompany me as well and we set off to the restaurant, where we ordered our usuals. "Don't you ever have anything different?" asked Diane who'd come with us often enough to be aware of it.

"Yes of course, when they run out of chicken he has beef curry, and I have been known to have a cheese jacket potato, but I prefer tuna."

"I thought they were in danger of extinction?" said Diane giving me a strange look.

"Some are. Why?"

"Well, you are an ecologist."

"I am, glad you'd worked that one out, but as Trish frequently says to me, 'Some ecologist you are,' usually in front of an audience."

"She doesn't, does she?" Diane looked horrified.

"Aye, she does," confirmed Tom, "though sometimes, she uses biologist, instead."

"What?" gasped Diane.

"It's strange, but she expects me to know the answer to every question she fires at me. If I don't, she tends to indicate her disappointment in a rather direct form," I explained.

"What a little monster," commented Diane, "and you let her get away with it?"

"Usually, it isn't worth making a fuss about and it would encourage her to do it more often to get my attention or wind me up, sometimes she will do the same to her dad but because he is such a Monty Python fan, if she's disappointed or disgruntled, she'll say, 'Not much of a cheese shop is it?' "

"I presume that's from the Cheese shop sketch?"

"Yes, with John Cleese and Michael Palin sparring, almost a reworking of the parrot sketch."

"It sounds as if you're almost as big a fan as Simon," observed Diane and Daddy snorted and nodded, thereby demonstrating that men can multitask if in a limited way.

"I don't think I ever got into Python, it was before our time anyway, and I just didn't see the repeats they put on over the years, never really appealed - too public schoolboy."

Daddy laughed and clapped his hands, "Jest whit I think tae."

I suppose she was pretty well spot-on, at least in Simon's case, though I saw them as reruns and found some of them extremely funny, except when Simon recites the script verbatim when I'm trying to go to sleep. I have never said, 'I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition,' twice. I sometimes learn quite quickly. So, as a grammar school girl, I still found many of the sketches very funny sometimes because they were very clever and sometimes because they were just so silly and we do tend to either fear or laugh at the absurd. I'd never thought of it quite like that before, least not in those terms, so perhaps those who didn't like it may have not understood it or felt frightened of it. Strewth, this was my birthday, I didn't expect to think as well as get older.

"Simon has a whole set o' DVDs if ye'd like tae borrow them," offered Tom.

"Um, I don't think so, all the same." Perhaps Diane was one who found the absurd frightening? Then I feel the same way about clowns, they scare the brown-stuff out of me, though I don't know why and I have no interest in finding out why even if I could in a reliable way. Ah, you say, 'because I'm scared of it,' maybe I am or maybe I see it as such a trivial thing I can't be bothered to waste even a second thinking about it. It's not like I go to circuses or places where I'll see them, so it isn't worth the time and I am prepared to accept we all have our foibles, so if I'm not picking at yours, leave mine alone.

Thinking about Theatre of the Absurd, I remember watching Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead and not really appreciating what it was all about except it's supposed to be two characters from Hamlet, that was all I knew without really knowing my Hamlet. Perhaps I'm not clever enough to understand it, or not interested in it enough to think about it, I mean, I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition...

Mind you, in the sixth form, that's year eleven, we read Ionesco's, Exit the king, which is weird and of course, I got stuck with reading one of the female roles throughout the process, Queen Marie, if I remember correctly, we did Romeo and Juliet after that, yeah Shakespeare's version and I suppose you can guess I didn't get to read Romeo. But at least that was kept to just my class, we didn't do it on stage although I was threatened with it after Macbeth when I'd upset Murray over some imaginary crime, my very presence seemed to set him off and depending upon my mood at the time might have been deliberate or simply by accident.

His problem was that I was academically quite good so he couldn't get rid of me and on reflection, I'm not sure which of us suffered the more, me from his bullying and attempted humiliation of me or he from my refusal to go away or become butch. I was a girl dammit, I just didn't know how to express it except when he forced me to as supposed punishments and wearing my hair very long. I ended up in the girl's uniform several times despite Mr Whitehead's attempts to protect me, which I didn't realise at the time and regret now. He really was a super chap compared to Murray who was a homophobic bully, pure and simple or in my case, perhaps a transphobic one - though we neither really understood it as such. To him, all feminine boys were queers, which shows how far we have moved on, though it's still not far enough for some of the things I hear about even today.

Danielle asked me to watch a documentary which had been on BBC3 called, Lily - a Transgender Story, about a girl from North Wales. It was very good and I felt pleased that at least one story seemed to have a happy ending, at least as long as it went. I'm sure there are many of them but I don't have the time or inclination to watch them and only did so because Danielle had asked me to do so.

"Sae, are we ready tae go back?" asked Tom and disturbed my reverie and we trouped out to my car and back to the university.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p08yr4dk/lily-a-transg...

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3266 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####

My birthday came to an end after Simon treated us all to dinner at the green room, you know, the one at the hotel the bank owns or the family does, perhaps that's the same thing in this case.

The food was good and the children behaved and we came home and went to bed and made love, well Simon did, I fell asleep so he may have considered it to be verging on necrophilia. I was pleased to see him and to be with him again, but I was just so tired. That seems to be the story of my life at present, tiredness and difficulty in coping with the almost surreal quality of life under this stupid virus.

I wonder if we'll ever find out how it got into the system, the bush meat at a market has now been shown to be a lie and the laboratory in Wuhan has been castigated for lax security and apparently they were working with a virus that came from bats. Seeing as the Chinese government were slow to act and compounded things along with half the governments in the world, including our own collection of old Etonian and other assorted public school deadbeats. China is not only impeding investigations into the origins of the pandemic but is also trying to blame everyone else but itself - a symptom of paranoid tyrants syndrome.

Usually by my birthday, I have all the children's Christmas presents organised and together with David have the menus and food requirements organised and planned. This year, I really would be quite happy to sleep from Christmas eve all the way to New Year, the idea of Christmas and Brexit in the same week fills me with dread. But one of the joys of motherhood, is having to nurture your children even when you don't feel like it, so with Danielle's help, I got her to list what my girls wanted for their Christmas presents and I even made sure she understood to keep it real, not stupidly expensive things.

So I compiled a list and was able to order quite a bit from the internet and then spent the rest of the time when not working trying to find the requested items from local retailers. Stella was a slightly reluctant accomplice as were Julie and Phoebe. They'd already had their present, they wanted some sort of laser thing for hair removal and other skin treatments, which cost a couple of thousand pounds, so Simon and I agreed we'd pay half of it and Henry and Tom the rest, rather than them having to take a loan out to buy it.

It's quite frightening the high tech used in beauty therapy these days and their salon get's to look more like something out of Star Trek than ever. They admitted they had struggled, as just about each time they were about to start seeing their clients again, there'd be another lockdown, despite all the PPE they had, masks and aprons, visors and gloves, sterilisation equipment and hand gels, it seemed as if we were dealing with Ebola rather than Covid. Then I read that Covid has been linked to the deaths of over 82,000 people in the UK, which is more than all the UK civilian deaths during World War 2. Our government should be so proud, they must have reduced the pension payouts by millions.

The sunshine in my office window disappeared and was replaced by rain and hail hammering against the glass and predictions of more to come over the next week or so, with it getting cold at Christmas. Still it wasn't the white stuff they'd been having in the States, the way things are at present it wouldn't take much to stop everything and snow could quite easily do that.

Mass vaccination had begun in the UK, the first country to start doing it, using the US developed vaccine, though it was hoped the Oxford one which didn't require such extreme temperatures and was much cheaper to produce and store was hoped to get approval for use by Christmas. So perhaps, by the time I retire we may have resolved the epidemic, though it already feels like it's been going on for most of my life. It's very strange how time seems to distort in unusual circumstances, like we've all been in a collective dream for the best part of a year.

Henry phoned, well, actually, Monica phoned as a dutiful grandparent to see what our little monkeys wanted to put under the Christmas tree - shit, I haven't organised that yet either - and I very politely suggested she ask them herself. So she did. I decided she had more time than I did and so left her to it. Being Monica, with skin about three times the thickness of the average pachyderm, she didn't take offence.

We'd been using Zoom for calls to them from home, so each could see the other and given the limitations of the visuals, Henry seemed to have made quite c good recovery from his latest brush with mortality and I did try to remind him that he had had help from something he should pay attention to. He tried to laugh it off until Stella let him have it from both barrels, and being a very well qualified and senior nurse practitioner, when she mentioned my 'special' assistance and that he'd promised to agree to change both his lifestyle and outlook to allow me to ask for help, he went red enough for it to register on the computer screen and he also began coughing and short of breath.

"So are you saying, that Cathy saved my life using her special powers?" he coughed at her.

"Daddy, you know damn well she did and she had to get help from higher authority to pull you through. Don't you realise you would have died if she hadn't and you made promises to her which you are not keeping."

"If I was that ill, how could I make promises?" He paused to cough and his breathing was laboured. "I can't remember what happened except feeling Cathy was with me, when I knew she couldn't have been." He coughed and wheezed some more when he stopped talking.

"Mummy had to ask the goddess to save you, Gramps," offered Trish, "we just couldn't make enough energy by ourselves, and the goddess did ask for your word that you would change things, 'cause when she talks with the goddess, some of us see it too."

Trish isn't given to lying and Henry knew that, all the same he was struggling both to answer her charge and also to get enough oxygen to breathe. Even after Monica brought him an oxygen mask, he looked to be struggling. I tried to stay out of the discussion. But thought he'd had enough encounters with my healing to realise that it wasn't something I did by myself and that I didn't just plug into the blue energy to zap whoever I felt like, he knew it didn't work like that.

"I'll have to go, folks," he called and closed down the meeting.

"Stupid, obstinate fool," hissed Stella as she walked away from the dining room where the computer was. "If he dies it'll be his own fault." I shrugged back at her sensing she was upset and didn't wish to talk. I'd call her down for a cuppa a bit later.

"Is Gwamps gonna die?" asked Meems of Danielle, who shrugged a response.

"If he don't change, he could," said Trish murdering the laws of grammar.

"Oh, Mummy, don't wet him die," she said sobbing into my arms.

"It's not up to me, sweetheart," I said back to her and hugged her gently. She sobbed for some time with Trish and the younger girls forming a sort of huddle mass around us. Danielle looked a bit sad but left us to it.

"You've got to stop him dying, Mummy," continued Meems and the two littlies were also crying, although I don't know if they understood the concept of death, Meems might as she had actually died once and I'd brought her back and Trish had been close a couple of times.

After about ten minutes Trish took Meems off with her and Hannah followed behind, they were in deep discussion about the limits of my powers - it sounded like they were discussing Superman or Wonder Woman rather than a mere mortal like me.

Livvie followed me out to the kitchen. "Is he going to die?"

"I don't know, sweetheart, I really don't."

"I heard that people who'd been very ill were more susceptible to strokes after recovery, is that true?"

"I don't know, darling, I'm a biologist not a medical doctor, ask Auntie Stella, she may know."

"Well that doctor died a few days after he went home, though he was BAME, I think," she said almost to herself.

"Oh the psychiatrist chap?" I now had some recollection of who she was talking.

"Yes, I think so." I was amazed at what these girls understood either from news bulletins or looking at the paper or perhaps from the internet. I had warned them about what they may see on the net or social media about vaccines and told them categorically, that the evidence for vaccines was in full support but that those who were saying all sorts of stuff against them were mistaken or misled by those who often had some weird idea they promulgated or had a personal problem with the idea of vaccinating against diseases, including such strange ones as vaccines contained something from pigs or made men infertile. They laughed at the pig one, but it was true and would exclude Moslems and Jews if it were true, which it wasn't. But some of these anti-vaxxer groups were seriously mixed up and often believed such things as Covid was spread by the 5G networks. I mean, if someone believed that after being told it was wrong and why, who knows what else they believed.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3267 by Angharad Copyright© 2020 Angharad

---

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.
####
For A.G. who likes to read in bed, Merry Christmas.
The three weeks between my birthday and Christmas seemed to fly, in fact, they may have even gone supersonic because it seemed to happen so quickly. One moment I'm being wined and dined in the green room and the next, I'm helping David make mince pies on Christmas eve. We did have several pairs of hands who wanted to assist, probably more in the eating than the making, but they did help to clear up afterwards and before they got their still-warm mince pie. David claims he is no pastry cook because his hands are too warm, they do tend to be warmer than mine, but I have no interest in messing about with pastry, you could say I don't know my choux from my filo.

I've made plenty of pies in my time and a few puff pastry things as well, but I don't enjoy it because it's so time-consuming, mixing the ingredients and rolling it out and so on. I know lots of people have fun in making all sorts of pastry things, but I am simply not one of them.

My job was increasingly difficult but the university was prospering and getting mentions in the national press from psychology to palaeontology. It's good to have some sort of profile but everything was just so busy despite so many people working from home and thanks to the virus, or a new mutation of, we were back in the equivalent to lockdown or tier 4, which means most things are shut down and everyone is supposed to stay at home except for work or food shopping. There were all sorts of league tables being shown but essentially, once the QA became overwhelmed, it became inevitable that we'd end up in the highest category as the new variant of the virus seemed to be speeding along the south coast from Kent and north into London.

Some places were describing it as originating from the UK, but it didn't, it was that it was discovered here and the genetic code published in the UK first. Apparently, it is something we lead the world in. The variant is more infectious or contagious but less lethal and not to feel left out, South Africa has been found to have yet another mutation. It is what viruses do, mutate that is, even cold and flu viruses do which is one reason why we catch so many, our immune systems can't keep up with them and those viruses that kill their hosts are getting it wrong as they tend to minimise their opportunity to spread. So, anyone who fancies telling Ebola that it's an evolutionary throw-back, feel free to do so, but I don't think it'll be me.

Thankfully, David had done nearly all the food shopping while I had been busy with university business or trying to get presents for the family wondering if Simon and Sammi would be allowed to come home under the restrictions but much of London and South East England were all in the same tier, also lots of Wales and the Midlands were in similar lockdowns. No one is going to forget this Christmas in a hurry - and then we have Brexit, with Bungling Boris just managing to make a deal with the EU a day or so before Christmas. That it will mean we're all worse off than before the referendum, doesn't seem to have entered his mind, or what passes for one - so thanks, Boris, you berk (a Cockney term of endearment, rhyming with Berkshire Hunt).

On Christmas morning, that maniac cat who usually is found in the vicinity of Trish or food ran across my bed at about four o'clock and shot out down the landing after doing the same in the girl's room. Danni's door was shut, so she was the only one not to be woken by our mad moggie, who came back about twenty minutes later for a lap of honour. That it was the wee sma' 'oors when she carried out the attack, seemed unimportant, to said feline as far as I could work out my logic not helped by ailurogenic sleep-deprivation.

My little ones, Cate and Lizzie refused to go back to sleep so I had to get up and pretend how much I liked Christmas, about as much as Ebenezer Scrooge before the Christmas dreams. Actually, thinking about the dream of Christmas Past gave me a sense of being able to partly identify with it as many of my childhood Christmases were not happy ones because I was expected to enjoy them as a boy when I wasn't one and the doll I swapped a football for was confiscated by my Dad, though if you remember he returned it to me after my mother died. It's about the only thing I have that was mine from relatively early childhood which I still have and it's locked away in an old box I had some boots in because it's too precious for me to even give to my own children. I'd give them almost anything else I possess, except that doll and the baby-shoes and christening bracelet my mother bought convinced she was having a little girl. She did but didn't really recognise it until she was dying if she did then.

Rather than dwelling on Christmases past, I got the little ones some breakfast and let them open the things in their stockings, which are little items I have collected through the year for just this. At ten past five on Christmas morning, I finally managed to sit down with a cup of tea and a piece of toast feeling like death warmed up and that bloody cat curled up on my lap.

I had nodded off for an hour and then showered and dressed before starting to prepare vegetables for dinner so I wouldn't have to do them while the others were up and celebrating and it also meant less work for David who could use the time to make two or three different stuffings to eat with the turkey. I'm not that fond of turkey and keep threatening to get one of those multibird crowns for a change, but bearing in mind we have half a dozen adults or more plus myriad offspring, even a ten-kilo fowl lasts only one meal with perhaps sandwiches for another. Then you have the problem of cooking something verging on the size of a blessed ostrich and having an oven big enough to cook such an unfortunate avian. Trish had suggested instead of roasting such a big turkey, we should cassowary it. David nearly choked on his coffee that day.

By eight o'clock, David was in my kitchen preparing the turkey and a joint of silverside of beef plus a large boiling ham. Trish, who was now both awake and finishing her breakfast asked if all ecologists ate so much meat? I began to understand how Pinocchio felt like with Jiminy Cricket. Though in truth, I didn't eat that much meat preferring to be responsible for the extinction of tuna. Seriously, I would probably have two slices of each over Christmas and about the same number of mince pies if the others didn't get them first.

The girls got Simon up, once they'd lain in bed cuddling him for an hour or so and by the time he was downstairs Sammi and Stella were also down and pretty well everyone was there so we allowed the opening of presents. I don't think anything will ever compare to the year I had my op and Simon gave me the bike workshop set, which I still have, all clean and greased and in my bike shed. Sadly, I just don't have the time to play with it much these days. life is so fraught and busy.

Then a little after Julie and Phoebe arrived I got a text from Diane to tell me that one of my readers in Biology had succumbed to the virus and the reality of it came home with a crash. His son had called Diane because he knew her socially and she passed it on to me. I felt awful, here we all were gathered to stuff ourselves silly and a family just a mile or two away were in mourning.

Called Diane from my study and got the son's phone number and called him to express my condolences but there was nothing else I could do. When Simon found me I was in tears for my lost colleague and he mentioned, he was dreading hearing from Monica to say that Henry had died. "You will try and stop that happening, won't you?"

I nodded and felt more tears, Henry had been his own worst enemy throughout this illness and his refusal to make some changes to his lifestyle, which he agreed when he was very ill, had been ignored. I wasn't sure if I actually could help unless he helped himself first and time was running out. it looked as if we would never forget this Christmas.

The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3268 by Angharad Copyright© 2021 Angharad

---

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.
####
It was a bright and sunny morning, it was also the second of January 2021. Often at New Year, I think back to my past and how different things were now to then. As a child, my life had been safe, except for my unresolved gender issues and the bullying that occurred as a result. Other children could scent that I was different. I didn't present as effeminate, did I? Not having the gift that Burns suggested, 'tae see oorsels as others see us', I really didn't know. Perhaps I was effeminate, not in an exaggerated sense that some gay men perform, but in a feminine manner like a girl, which I suppose when presented by someone seen as male, could be termed effeminate I suppose, though I preferred to see myself as a feminine boy.

I was musing on this as I absently flicked through my Filofax diary when Danni entered my study and made me start as I hadn't noticed her until she spoke. "Ooh, you made me jump," I said recovering from my surprise.

"Sorry, Mummy," she apologised and asked me what I was doing.

"My hands were flicking through my diary but my head was thinking about the past to when I was a kid."

"When you were a girl?" she asked.

I shrugged. I was a girl but wasn't at the same time because I couldn't show the rest of the world that I was one so was treated with a mixture of responses, often confused or hostile.

"Do you ever wish you were a boy?" she asked with an expression I couldn't read for certain.

"I don't know, I suppose if I'd been a normal boy life would have been easier and my relationship with my parents and others would have been a bit easier. Why do you?" I asked back wondering if we'd all made some sort of mistake in helping her transition. If we did, we would have some serious problems helping her revert, I could feel my blood pressure rising and my heart was beating nineteen to the dozen with worry and guilt. Had I misled this child? She wasn't typical gender dysphoric like Trish and Julie, more gender curious and I had encouraged her to experiment, then made her stay as a girl when we went to Scotland and then when Allie had died, she insisted she stay as one in respect for that tragic teen. The final straw had been her relationship with Peter/Pia and their experiences in France leading to Pia drugging her and castrating her leaving the surgeons little option but to create a vagina with what was left, encouraged by the fact that she was dressed as a girl at the time. All this flashed through my mind in a nanosecond.

"Sometimes," she sighed.

I put down my diary and offered her a hug which she took very quickly and I felt her weep silently into my shoulder. "Hey, what's wrong, sweetheart?" I asked gently, stroking her back as tenderly as I could.

"Nothing," she said but continued to sob silently.

I leant over and closed the study door, now we wouldn't be interrupted. She stood up and I re-seated myself and encouraged her to come and sit on my lap for a cwtch, as they say in Wales. She flopped down onto lap and continued holding her face into my shoulder. The sobbing was intermittent now and I hoped I might discover what was wrong with her.

"Do you regret becoming a girl?" I asked quietly ready to pack my cases for the guilt trip of a lifetime.

"Sometimes," said back a tiny voice and inside I felt a huge part of me cringe in shame. What had I done to this child and was I guilty of child abuse?

"Is today one of those times?" I probed gently.

"Dunno," was the response. It didn't help me make things better which added frustration to my increasing sense of guilt. I'm a natural rescuer, I don't like it when I can't make everything better, especially for my kids. This was agony.

"Want to tell me what you're thinking about?"

"Dunno if I can," she sniffed and I handed her a tissue.

"How do you feel?"

"Dunno, sort of confused."

"Would you like me to ask Stephanie to see you?"

"Don't think so."

"Okay, but if you change your mind, don't feel embarrassed to ask me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay but I don't think I need her, just feel a bit down."

"It's quite common after the excitement of Christmas and New Year and now we're back to the mundane and the winter with Covid as an added depressant."

"Maybe that's it," she said blew her nose and stood up.

"It's not though, is it?"

She stared back at me through watery eyes, reddened through crying and I noticed she wasn't wearing any makeup, which was unusual in itself. I now wondered if she had been building up to something for a few days or even longer. "What d'you mean?" she asked.

"Please tell me what you're feeling, I need to know, sweetheart." She took her place back on my lap and cuddled into me again. She may have been sixteen but at this moment her behaviour was more that of a ten-year-old.

"I was just thinkin' what would life have been like if I'd stayed a boy instead of all this girl stuff."

"How different do you think it would have been?"

"Not sure, I don't think you or dad would have loved me as much." I bit my tongue. I wanted to rush in and deny it emphatically, instead, I just held her and squeezed her gently to show I'd heard her. "I'd have been playing soccer for a boys' team an'..."

"And had horrible hairy legs," I joked and she giggled.

"Anything else?" I asked giving her a moment to think.

"Well, all of you wanted to be girls." Her head still snuggled into my shoulder.

"We did," I agreed.

"I didn't, well only sometimes, well, I liked some bits of being a girl."

"Which bits were those?" I asked wondering if I had a way into her melancholy.

"You know...," she said quietly.

"Remind me, you know how lousy my memory is."

"Well, some of the clothes are nice."

"They are, girls have more choice and opportunity to show how they feel or how they want to be accepted," I helped.

"Yeah, that sort of thing, an' makeup, that was quite fun sometimes."

"You're very clever with makeup, far more than me."

"Yeah, I quite like experimentin', it's fun."

"Couldn't you have done that as a boy?"

"I'd have looked like an idiot or a poof."

"Oh, but that doesn't apply if you're a girl?"

"Nah, it's okay for girls, or if you're pretendin' to be one, or if you're a drag artist, some of them are amazing."

"They are indeed, but couldn't you have occasionally dressed up and used makeup or just done it in your own room or the bathroom? No one would have said anything, would they?"

"Only to encourage me, Trish seems to think everyone should be a girl."

"I had noticed, she just enjoys it so much."

Danni gave a little chuckle, "Yeah, she thinks it should be compulsory." I laughed a little as well.

"So do you regret being a girl?"

"It woulda been nice to have had a choice."

"Oh you mean, Pia?"

"Yeah, she really messed me up."

"She didn't help, did she?"

"No. Stupid cow."

"But you forgave her."

"I had to, can't be mad at anyone for long, just doesn't help, does it?"

"That's very mature of you to feel like that and I'm glad you did it."

"Yeah, but I'm not a saint, like you."

I felt my face go crimson. "I'm no saint, far from it."

"You must be good though, 'cause of the blue light thingy."

"I'm not sure I agree there either, that chooses who it wants to work through, being good I don't think enters into it, and besides, you have the gift as well."

"But it only happens to girls, doesn't it?"

"This variety does because it comes from the goddess," I wasn't sure if I actually believed what I was saying, but I wanted her to feel secure in her femaleness, though accepted my motives may have been less than altruistic.

"Yeah, well if she chooses you, you have to be good, or she must think you are."

"I think worthy is the word you were seeking."

"Yeah, worthy, and you have to be female in spirit or something, don't you?"

"I think so."

"So, see you're a good woman."

"If I am, and you also have the gift, doesn't that make you the same, a good woman?"

She was silent for a moment, obviously thinking about what she had said and my rejoinder and possibly how she was going to reply to it. "Am I a good woman, too?"

"Yes, you are, my darling," and I hugged her to reinforce my belief in it.

"Does that mean, I was always one, even when I thought I was a boy like you and Trish were?"

Wow, how do I reply to that? "I don't know, darling, only the goddess could tell you that."

"Can we ask her?"

"Have you thought to try that yourself?"

"But you're her favourite," she almost accused.

"I doubt that very much, sweetheart, I think she sees me as pain in the neck or even lower down."

She chuckled at my self-assessment of worthiness.

"So I could try and ask her myself?" I nodded my answer and she asked, "How do I do that?"

"I'm not sure, but I would think if you were to find somewhere quiet and then sit and empty your mind except for thinking about her. She will come if she knows you need to speak to her."

"Is she scary?"

"No, only when people waste her time and then she only gently chides me--uh them."

"She won't think me a waste of time, not being a real girl?"

"If she didn't see you as real you wouldn't have the gift, as she only works through real women. You are as real as anyone else, you simply have a different route to womanhood, you are a non-menstruating female and there are loads of them, nanny Monica, is one."

"I thought you had to have periods to be a proper girl."

"Some extreme feminists think so but like all extremists, they are so far up their own arses all they see is shit." She laughed at my analogy.

She sat up straighter wiped her eyes and nose and standing up said, "Thank you, Mummy. I'll go and ask her, but thank you." I stood up and she hugged me before leaving me to my diary. I hoped I'd helped rather than confused her but only she would know that. I asked the goddess to help her and went back to my diary.