The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1508 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Let’s have lunch, then you can wash the cars–ask Danny to help you and perhaps the girls would like to play with you too.”

“What?”

“I said let’s have lunch…”

“I heard what you said.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t think I’ve got the patience to cope with them all at the moment.”

“Okay, I’ll do something with the girls, you get Danny to help you.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to cope with them under my feet.”

“These children have been waiting for you. They know something is up, but probably unable to understand quite what it is–I’m not entirely sure I know–but while the outside world may decry you and hunt for your blood–your children will love you and support you and help you through this crisis.”

“Not if they’re under my feet.”

“Okay, then you’d better go up to the guest room and stay there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is my home.”

“It’s also the children’s and they don’t have any choices in the matter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that either you cope with them, or you call the hotel in Southsea–I’ll help you pack.”

“But last night you were telling me how much you loved me.”

“I still love you, but I don’t have to tolerate this, ‘woe is me attitude.’”

“Oh thanks very much, you can stick your lunch.” He marched back into the house. I looked at his car–it was some mud that was down the side of it. I looked at my own, it had dirty marks on it as well, and so did the vintage Jag, when I checked in the garage.

I love that man to bits, but he has to learn to cope with the family, especially if he’s going to be on gardening leave for a few weeks. I went back into the kitchen and was serving lunch when a taxi arrived. Puzzled I went out to see if he had the wrong address.

“Taxi for Cameron–to Heathrow?”

“Heathrow?” I repeated in astonishment.

“That’s what they told me.”

“There must be some mistake, no one here’s going to Heathrow?”

“Look, lady, that’s what I was told to do, so here I am doing it, okay?”

“I still think there’s been some mistake…”

“Okay, cabbie, sorry to keep you.” Simon came up behind me with a suitcase and his laptop bag.

“You’re going to Heathrow?” I gasped.

“I’m going to Kansas, see if I can sort out this thing with the bank.”

“Have you spoken to Henry?”

“No, and I’d be obliged if you didn’t either. I hope to be back in a week or so.”

“Just like that?” I stood with my hands on my hips.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll ring you when I get there.” Before I could respond he pecked me on the cheek and got into the car, the driver put his case in the boot and off they went. My ghast was flabbered to say the least.

I know he’s been to the US before, which is more than I have, but some of the people over there won’t take too kindly to anyone poking about in their business, and his cut glass accent and titles won’t protect him from being shot. In fact they may well make it easier to see him as an alien–from a different planet–well, he is–so shooting him won’t necessarily be so frowned upon.

That these people he’s after are crooks makes it quite possible that they wouldn’t stop at doing whatever to prevent his investigations–which I presume he’s doing, trying to clear his name and find some other bugger to blame.

I applaud his nerve if not his actions. Especially as it could affect what Henry does. Simon should have spoken to his father. All I can do is tell him he’s gone away for a few days to sort himself out. I’ll have to tell the children the same. Sometimes I just feel like running away myself–except I don’t have that as an option–oh, the joys of parenthood.

“Where’s Daddy gone?” asked Livvie.

“He’s gone away for a few days, he’s got some work to do for the bank.”

“I thought they’d sus…” Stella began the sentence and I glared at her, it was a miracle that she didn’t spontaneously combust, so searing was my glare. “…suggested, yeah, the bank suggested he go away to think about things.”

“Where’s he going?” asked Trish.

She knew where Kansas was, and probably so did Danny and Livvie. “Um he didn’t say, but it’s far enough for him to find some peace and quiet.”

“We’ve been quiet as mouses all day,” sighed Livvie.

“Mice,” corrected Trish.

“We’ve been as quite as mouses all mice,” said Livvie, not thinking about what she was saying.

“No, silly, we’ve been as quite as mices all day.”

It’s amazing what a little education can do to alter your life–little being the operative word. I decided not to play the grammar fascist and let it go. Stella was hiding behind her hand, though tears running down her face tended to give the game away–she was crying with laughter, or mourning the assassination of the English language by Trish.

“C’mon, let’s wash the cars–everyone in wellies and coats please–yes your playing coats.” I went and changed as well, and for the next hour or so I supervised half a dozen kids playing with hoses and brushes as they cleaned off the cars. The dirty mark on Simon’s car came off with little problem.

We cleaned: my car; Si’s car; Tom’s Freelander; Stella’s Fiesta and the Mondeo. They were gleaming as we wiped off the excess water with chamois leathers. We even polished my car and the Mondeo. Tom’s didn’t need it, as he waxes it quite regularly and Stella’s was okay too–actually, I’d had enough by then but at least I didn’t call a taxi to go to Heathrow to avoid any more, unlike someone we know.

Simon remains unpredictable and occasionally selfish. Alright, it isn’t my reputation that’s being dragged through the mud, but he could show some appreciation of his family for their support throughout all this.

It was about midnight when he phoned to say he was at New York and was waiting for a connection, to Kansas, I presume–he didn’t say to where. I know it’s a huge country so there are loads of ways of traversing it. I wish he had James or someone like that with him, someone who might keep an eye on him and try to keep him out of trouble.

First thing the next morning, I called James and asked him if he could go and help Simon. We agreed a rate and he went off to pack.

I sent Simon a text telling him what I’d done and that James would find him. He texted back.

‘Find me? I’m not lost! I can handle this, so stop him. S.’

‘Please, humour me. Love C xxx’

‘Bah humbug!’

'How clevr of u 2 remember Scrooge was a banker.’ I pressed send and switched off my phone and went to make some tea.