The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2712 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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226 doz for our dodecaphiles.

Despite my broken sleep, I actually felt reasonably rested when I woke and listened to the radio as I worked out what day it was and where and who I was. Sadly the radio didn’t tell me preferring to go on about some unelectable bloke who looked likely to win the Labour Party leadership or the migrants at Calais and what our namesake was or wasn’t doing about them.

I remembered who I was just in time for a herd of migrants to descend upon the bed giggling. Pretending I was dead wasn’t an option as I’d already squealed when one of them placed two cold feet in the small of my back. The others began tickling me and I remembered I needed a wee, probably the reason I woke before the radio alarm went off. I therefore bailed out of bed and ran to the bathroom. While there I decided to shower and upon returning to my bedroom saw I had four migrants lying in my bed and pretending to be asleep. I ignored them and continued dressing and discovered they can apparently giggle when supposedly asleep. Of course, I continued to ignore them.

I was amazed that Simon had got himself up and off to work without me waking, but then I hadn’t heard him come to bed either. I must have been more tired than I thought.

The week continued with mainly wet weather and predictions of storms on Thursday and Friday. Tuesday was curious, we had some sunshine then it clouded over and rained—the rain being continuous but very light, it was also quite warm with prospects of being warmer still on Wednesday.

Wednesday the sun actually shone and once the giggling aliens had come down for breakfast, I asked them what they’d like to do. Danielle said she wanted to go and see Cindy to which I agreed. Hannah wanted to cycle but the others voted it down but didn’t know what they wanted to do. I suggested we went to the beach. I didn’t really want to go but it looked like the only day we’d have a chance. Finally they agreed it was what we’d do. Hayling Island looked the best option and I decided that was where we’d visit.

The next two hours were spent making picnics and finding swimming costumes. Stella decided she would come as well, so we’d need to take two cars. She agreed to take Lizzie and Cate with her two in the Mondeo, while I had the older girls with me, Hannah in the front and Trish, Meems and Livvie in the back. My boot was full of food, drinks and various beach toys, towels, sun cream and a book. I also included a parasol but wasn’t sure if we’d be able to carry it as well as the rest.

Parking on such a day would normally be a nightmare but a quick phone call to the latest of High Street’s acquisitions and we were invited to park in the hotel car park which is just across the road from the beach. Occasionally being a Cameron has its advantages and as we had about ninety three children to supervise, worrying about car parks was not something I had time or energy to waste upon. It’s not that far to Hayling but with everyone in southern England intent on doing the same thing it took far longer than it should and it was noon by the time we’d parked and carried our expedition equipment to a spot on the beach.

Everyone but the littlies had to carry something and I pushed Lizzie in her push chair which had the cool box strapped to the back of it. I also had a rucksack with towels, first aid and sun cream, the girls all carried a change of clothing and something else, Trish being charged with the parasol and Hannah the groundsheet. Livvie had two folding chairs, Meems some balls and buckets and spades, while Cate carried some nappies and a change of clothing for Lizzie.

The next bit was like setting up base camp on Everest, the ground sheet went down with a bag on each corner to keep it flat. The parasol was erected with no one trapping any fingers in it and the chairs for Stella and I were placed in the shade of the parasol. From there it was just a question of putting stuff where we could while enabling those who wanted a chance to sit on the sheet rather than the sand.

We agreed parameters with the older children about where they’d be at all times—between someone with a red parasol to our right and a green wind-shade that a family had to our left. Our yellow and green parasol would show where we were and Stella or I would be there at all times—as much as anything to watch our property.

The girls decided they would have a play in the sea before we had lunch which looked like a good idea. Trish began pulling stuff out of the back pack she’d brought with her and by the time she’d finished and donned it, she looked like a miniature Jacques Cousteau, with snorkel and mask, nose clip and flippers. I told her to be careful and asked Livvie and Hannah to watch out for her in case she decided to snorkel her way to France. Watching her flip, flap and flop her way down the beach in the flippers was funny and I did suggest she’d be better putting them on when she was at the water’s edge, but no, she wanted to pretend she was a frogman all the way there. The rest thought she was crazy but I suspect she enjoyed all the attention it got her.

I knew she could snorkel as she’d learnt while we were in Menorca, but most of her practice was in the pool at the villa, not a crowded beach on the South coast. Judging by the number of reddening bodies, lots of people were still not taking notice of the guidelines on sun bathing and would be sore tonight if not suffering from skin cancers in twenty years time.

Ours had been smothered in factor thirty and I was rubbing factor fifty on my arms, legs and face. I had a costume on under my shorts and tee shirt but wasn’t sure if I’d be anywhere near the water except to take Lizzie and Cate for a paddle.

Once she’d recovered from watching Trish flap down the beach, I left Stella in control of the base camp and walked Lizzie and Cate down to the water’s edge. We walked up and down with the waves lapping at our feet and legs while the older girls ran in and out of the water squealing and splashing each other, except Trish who walked out to waist deep and began swimming. I doubted she would see anything as the waves were stirring up too much sand but she seemed happy.

One minute she was in view as I walked along the edge of the waves with the two little ones and the next moment she was gone. I could see no sign of the snorkel or Trish. I began to feel that horrible sick emptiness that accompanies a shock and called Hannah who was nearest to come and take the youngsters back to Stella. Then while still looking for her, I organised the others to keep watch for her while I walked briskly along the beach trying to spot her.

All the while I was beating myself up with recriminations, why didn’t I stop her or accompany her into the sea? I didn’t know but my heart was racing and I was developing an anxiety gradient that was almost perpendicular to a timescale.