The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2713 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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All sorts of scenarios ran through my mind as I ran back and fore along the beach. It was minutes since I’d seen her, no more than three or four—but long enough for a child to drown. I continued my frantic running up and down. Not seeing her, I stopped and tried to centre in on her not caring if anyone else saw the light or not. One of my children were at risk, nothing else mattered but her safe return.

I got no sense of her having died or even being in difficulty, so where the hell was she? I looked again, there was no sign of her. I felt tears begin to flow and my vision became blurred. Somehow I’d let her down, as a mother I was a total failure.

“Why are you crying, Mummy?”

“I can’t find Trish.”

“I’m here, Mummy.”

“Yes, dear, but where’s Trish?”

“I am Trish, Mummy, are you blind?”

I looked down and sure enough a dripping wet, life size effigy of my daughter stood alongside me. “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed

“You were looking for me, Mummy.”

“Yes, I know, so what are you doing here?”

“You were looking for me.”

“What happened?” asked Livvie joining us.

“My flippers came off and I couldn’t find them, it was too murky.”

“Oh,” said Livvie and we both looked at Trish’s bare feet with their pink painted toenails.

Suddenly as if my brain took on board she hadn’t drowned I looked at her again and said, “Well give me a hug then.” She did and made me wet all down the front of my top and shorts. “I thought you’d drowned you silly girl.”

“Duh,” she said, “I told you, I lost my flipping flippers,” was added with a degree of indignation. Livvie was in fits of laughter making out like she was a penguin walking in tiny steps, flapping her hands by her sides.

I called the others and we headed back up to Stella just as Hannah began to run down to see us. “You’re okay then?” she said to Trish.

“Of course I am, do I look like a corpse?”

“Dunno, never seen one.”

“C’mon you two, no squabbling.” They both gave me an old fashioned look and walked on together, Trish explaining about her flipping flippers.

I managed to stop Stella asking what happened and her look suggested she’d want chapter and verse as soon as possible. I decided I would wait until they were out of earshot. We had lunch next and that dragged out for half an hour, after which they half heartedly made sand castles with the little ones—not in that way, they used buckets and spades but they allowed the littlies to help.

Then a bit later Livvie and Trish were kicking a football back and fore when some other girls and a couple of boys came along and asked to play as well. Before long they were playing beach football with upwards of a dozen kids playing. How they managed it in that heat, I don’t know, but I was hot just watching them.

When they eventually finished, they all ran down to the sea and just dived into the waves. I watched as someone pointed at Trish and a young woman walked up to her with a pair of green flippers. I saw Trish and her in deep conversation then Trish nodded and the girl handed her the flippers. Bugger, I hoped she’d lost them—dangerous things. I suspect they will suddenly disappear from the cupboard she keeps them in and never be seen again. Obviously, they must have been taken by the fairies.

I explained what Trish said had happened and Stella rolled her eyes. “I suppose she was thinking more about her precious flippers than her mother having kittens on the beach.”

“Something like that, I expect.”

“Why do we torment ourselves by having children?” she asked and in case it was a rhetorical question I simply shrugged. “I mean, they wreck our bodies coming, they distort your breasts feeding them, they suck your breasts and your bank accounts dry and then talk to you as if your were completely stupid. Why do we bother?”

“Are you asking me as a mother or as a biologist?”

“I wasn’t asking you, was I?”

“Fine, but the biological answer is because we’re programmed to breed, to pass on our genes.”

She seemed about to say something, which after that sentence had left my mouth I saw the flaws in it with regard to myself—I can’t breed and the genes I’m protecting didn’t come from either Simon or me, so biologically it makes little sense preserving someone else’s line. However, the urge to parent is so strong in some of us that we do it for other people’s kids as well or even instead, because we need to. I sadly fall into that category, I’m a compulsive mother—there I’ve said it. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy and I’m a compulsive parent.’

I thought back over my life. I was always telling people what to do, even in primary school, where the nativity play was an example—but apart from organising the others, I also got to play mother to God. The jackpot if ever I saw one.

In high school I remembered another boy telling me to ‘Piss off, you’re not my mother.’ I don’t remember the context but I was probably pointing out the consequences of his preferred course of action. I’d have been a natural as a safety engineer. Instead I went on to nurture growing minds in adolescents, except sometimes it seems they’re actually closing down not opening up. Quite a maternal occupation.

“Cathy, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you? No I thought not.” She accused and I felt about six inches tall. “I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t.” I didn’t know why she bothered either but I can cop out by suggesting it’s all driven by her biology—but she knows that already and after what I just said, it would be stating the bleeding obvious.

We came home mid afternoon by which time the sun was getting very warm and I was worried they’d all have sunburn if not third degree ones. Or the way they were running around, heat stroke. Of course Trish objected because her team was in the lead and it was only when I proffered ice cream when we got home, she agreed to ‘stow it’, so to speak (or not).

I considered the less said about this the better and conspired with Stella and Trish to keep it our little secret. Unfortunately, we returned home and Meems opened her cavernous cake hole telling Tom that Trish ‘nearly dwonwnded twying to wescue her fwippews.’ At this point I thought discretion to be the better part of valour and ran off to my study.