The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3006 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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The Olympics were due to start next weekend and I hoped to watch some of the cycling although it’s something of a lottery about who will win it and the course in Rio has been described as dangerous on some of the descents. We’ll have to wait and see. I suppose, to some extent, racing includes bike handling skills but that’s no consolation if you break your neck whizzing down a hairpin.

My thoughts were jolted by the car behind beeping me at a green light. Why they have to do repairs during peak hours annoys me. I’d paid for my day off. It was now after five o’clock and I’d worked solidly since lunch. I didn’t see Tom’s Land Rover in the car park as I left, so even he has beaten me away today.

When I finished crawling my way home courtesy of traffic congestion and road works, the girls gave me an enthusiastic welcome before asking if we were going on holiday this year. The problem for me, as far as holidays are concerned is, I have to take the children with me. A plight shared by millions of parents each year. Then suddenly they’re teenagers and don’t want to come with you anyway because you cramp their style or limit the amount of booze or sex they can get. It didn’t happen to me when I was that age because we always went to Cornwall or occasionally to Spain and then did coach trips every day. So even if I’d seen somebody I fancied, I’d have been stymied before I started. Thankfully, I didn’t have carnal thoughts at that age, except envying the bodies and clothes of my female contemporaries and also their lifestyles. Having said that one shouldn’t envy anyone else because you don’t know what is going on in their life. But teenagers are not renowned for seeing consequences one bit, they just want what they want and now.

“Can we go to Minorca, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

“It’s Menorca, innit, Mummy?” argued Trish.

“It is in Catalan, but Minorca in Castillian.”

“What’s it in English?” asked the brain.

“Somewhere you won’t be going if you try to get too clever with me, young lady.”

“I’ve never been away for holiday,” said Hannah.

Given the opportunity, I’d stay home and read books and go for walks or bike rides, but her simple statement caused a pain in my heart. “You’ve not been away at all, not even for a weekend?”

“Only with you.”

“We could always go to Scotland to the castle,” suggested Livvie apparently prepared to sacrifice sunshine for midges—not much of a deal in my opinion.

“Nah, I don’t wanna go there,” said Trish.

“Go where,” enter Danielle.

“Scotland,” supplied her sister.

“’S all right if the weather’s good.”

“I’ve never stayed in a castle.”

“You haven’t missed much, has she, Mummy?”

“Depends upon what you’re looking for—if it’s cold draughts and large spiders—castles can be fun.”

“May be I’ll pass on castles,” said Hannah changing her mind.

“’S’not that bad, actually. I didn’t see any large spiders particularly.”

“Remember the one in the cellars, about six inches across?” Danielle and Trish were now winding up Hannah or would if I let them.

“Not in this country you didn’t, so take no notice of them, Han.”

“Wosswrong with Minorca?”

“Nothing, it’s a very beautiful island,” I responded to Livvie’s question.

“Ha ha, clever dick,” she fired back at me.

“I’ll have to speak to your daddy, see if he’s let it out at all.”

“I haven’t got a passport, Mummy,” whined Hannah.

“We can sort that without too much trouble, we can’t if Daddy’s rented it out to someone else.” Part of me hoped he had though I suspected he hadn’t in case I wanted to go there. I do, but not with a dozen children. I wonder if I could lock them in the garage with a bottle of water and some digestive biscuits—nah, they’ll mark the floor and I just had it cleaned. Looks like we’re stuck with each other.

“I’ll speak with Daddy when he comes home.”

“Yay,” danced the brainiac.

Of course Simon thought it was a brilliant idea except he wouldn’t be able to come for the first week. Wonderful, the thought of me coping with the children while he swans around the house in comparative peace and quiet. That is so not going to happen.

“I think you’d enjoy a holiday on Menorca. Yeah, go for it.”

If I’d remembered correctly, we seemed to have disasters when I go away. It happened in Scotland and again in Menorca. Trish getting hurt on the ferry and then the gangsters attacking the house and me fighting back. Then the thought of seeing a pine marten was quite attractive. The thought of one or more of them coming to grief in the swimming pool was not. Everything has it’s pros and cons. Coping with all the children with little or no help seemed a definite con. I suppose I could ask Amanda to come or even David, but then they wouldn’t be really having a holiday any more than I would be.

Then again, I invited all the children to join us, they didn’t ask me—okay some of them did, but it was I who did the asking of authorities to adopt them, with their agreement of course. So I have no one to blame but myself—nothing new there then.

I asked the older girls if they’d like to come to Menorca with us but they declined—too busy. David could come but he’d just moved back into his cottage and wanted to decorate it. Can’t say I blame him. Amanda decided she would go and stay with her mother if we were away. It’s nice to be able to depend upon people, sadly, I don’t seem to be able to.

Stella would come but she thought she’d be unable to get time off at short notice, she’d get back to me. So it looked like I’d be going with: Danielle, Trish, Livvie, Hannah, Meems, Cate, and Lizzie. Jacquie had already planned a holiday so I hadn’t even considered her and Tom disappeared as soon as I talked about holidays, so I suspect he was looking forward to reclaiming his house for five minutes.

One woman with seven children—not good odds for a safe and restful holiday, although Danielle would help me, she’s not a childminder and a holiday would be good for her as well. On spec, I called Stephanie and asked her if she was available in two weeks time for a fortnight.

“Er not really, Cathy, I’m trying to book a holiday somewhere.”

“How about Menorca?”

“Sounds lovely, I’ll have to consider it.”

“If you don’t mind mucking in, you could come with us...”

To my surprise she said she’d like to but had to confirm her holiday dates. I decided the ferry to either Santander or Bilbao would mean too much of a drive which meant a two or three hour flight instead plus loads of luggage.

I explained what I thought was our dilemma to Simon that night and he said to send the luggage on ahead and have it collected the day before we returned. I suppose it would work that way but I’d have to ring around a few places to see how long and how much?

More work, just what I needed.