The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1168 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

At last the ironing came to an end and I took the clothing up to various bedrooms, thankfully Stella does her own, as does Jenny: Julie was supposed to be doing her own plus most of mine, and she seems to have forgotten that fact. I was tempted to leave hers for her to do, which she’d have to once she ran out of clean clothes, but that seemed simply provocative or confrontational. I left them draped on her bed so she’d have to hang them up herself and would hopefully notice I’d done them for her.

Simon can iron, but I’d prefer he spent time with the children when he’s here, which mostly he seems happy to do. I suppose I need to teach Danny, who’ll sweet talk one of the girls into doing it for him. His school shirts take a while to do as do the girl’s blouses–I’m so glad I sewed in name tapes or I’d never work out which was whose.

Back downstairs, I made some tea and while I drank it, I contemplated what was in the fridge that we could have for lunch. I suppose ice cubes are non-fattening, but not very tasty, look again. Tonight I was doing shepherd’s pie which explained the freshly killed shepherd in there, I had loads of tomatoes, so decided on a spaghetti Napoli and began its preparation–I checked for Parmesan and was relieved to see I still had some.

At one o’clock, it was all ready and I called Stella and Jenny to come for lunch, they did eventually, Jenny was yawning as she came into the kitchen and Stella looked less ashen faced than when I’d suggested the fry up.

Neither said they were very hungry but they devoured my tomato concoction with gusto–okay, there were some mushrooms and onion in it beside garlic and tomatoes and the pasta was wholegrain spaghetti.

“That was delicious, Cathy, I really landed on my feet when I arrived here, didn’t I?” Jenny smiled, disposing of the napkin she used to save spattering herself with tomato juice/sauce.

“I’m glad you think so,” I said smiling back at her.

“Huh,” said Stella and I knew a wind up was coming, “It’s all right for paid staff, whilst we unpaid slaves are expected to work for just the crumbs off the table.”

“I’ve worked for quite a few different families and households including some very wealthy and well connected ones, but none have made me as welcome as Cathy has–I’ll also bet the crumbs off the table are very nourishing,” Jenny defended me.

“The only one who gets fat off the crumbs is Kiki, and it’s interesting she usually sits by Stella because she drops the most. They say spaniels love babies and old people for that reason.”

Stella’s face was a picture and Jenny sniggered. “I’m not that much older than you, Missus,” declared Stella.
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“Must be the mileage then,” I shot back and she looked daggers at me, Jenny was wriggling with laughter then rushed off to the cloakroom.

“She gone to be sick?” asked Stella.

“No, for a wee I think.”

“Huh,” huffed Stella and she drank her tea.

I went and got the girls, and on return began making the shepherd’s pie with minced lamb, probably from a sheep that died of old age in New Zealand. Why they can’t call it mutton? I don’t know, my mother used to make mutton stew which was lovely, although the meat was a bit sickly, it was so sweet. They don’t seem to offer it these days in supermarkets or the local butchers.

At six, the big tray of cottage pie was browning under the grill and I began to wonder where Julie was, she was usually home about six. At twenty past in strolled Simon and he seemed pleased with the prospect of a good old fashioned British meal. He’d missed lunch through a meeting overrunning and had made do with a cup of soup cadged from his secretary.

“What time are we eating?” he asked.

“I’m just waiting for Julie.”

“What again? You need to have words with that young woman.”

“I did, which might be why she’s not here yet.”

“God, Cathy, can’t you deal with a simple matter like that without complicating it?”

“Ah, that was why you delegated it–it was so simple.”

“Of course, women,” he sighed and went upstairs to change, “I’m going to have a quick shower.”

“Hurry up then, I’m dishing up in ten minutes, with or without Julie.”

“Great, I’ll have time to paint my nails as well.”

He missed my, “Grrrrrrrrr, men,” but Jenny didn’t and she snorted and nodded.

I did dish up and Simon was back down smelling of Paco Rabanne cologne and for a moment I was distracted from eating, however, we all tucked in except Julie, who was now an hour late.

On the pretext of putting the kettle on, I sent her a text asking her to let me know that she was safe. Half an hour later I’d had no response, I began to feel very uneasy. Simon came out to see where I was and I told him I was worried about Julie. He asked me if I wanted him to go and see if he could find her. I did but I wasn’t sure he’d be able to, she could have gone anywhere.

Jenny asked what the problem was when she saw us talking and me with a worried look. I explained the situation, and she told us to go and look for her, she’d put the kids to bed and she was sure Tom would read to them.

Simon and I slipped away and went off in my car towards the college, he was driving which would mean the next time I sat in the front, I wouldn’t be able to reach the pedals.

We drove out into the countryside for a mile, the way I would usually go to the college when I suddenly felt sick and made him stop the car. I chucked up my shepherd into a hedge. I couldn’t understand why, it was properly cooked and prepared–must be nerves worrying about Julie. I walked back down the road, the grass glistened with the recent rain in the headlights of cars. I continued walking back the way we’d come. Then I saw it, the pink scooter, it had gone through a hedge and down into a ditch. It was facing away from home–oh Jeez, it had been there since this morning. I ran back to the car and yelled at Simon to call the police. He ran back with me and two minutes later he was down at the scooter and the muddy water in which it was lying.

The rain started again and I felt like crying. “I can’t see her, get your torch from the car.” I ran back to the car and then back with the torch, the rain was pelting down, and I pulled out my waterproof from the boot and put it on. I held an umbrella as I stood on the roadside watching Simon poking about in the hedgerow and ditch.

I rang triple nine. “Hello, police please...”