Something to Declare by Cyclist

Chapter 20

Off with the lycra, on with black cargo pants, heavy boots, white shirt with the badges and the clip-on tie.

Tool of the establishment, indeed, but they had just promised to protect me. On with the motley, then. I grabbed my batbelt, loaded with knife, multitool with two blades, handcuffs, spike and torch, and passed through the security search where they looked for things such as knives, multitools with..etc.

I was actually feeling frightened as well as disoriented. Coming back to Steve after all that had happened felt not just wrong, but disturbingly so. Whereas Steph is a person of natural movement, such as her rather graceless but enthusiastic dancing, Steve had been beaten and bullied over his childhood into a directness, an abrupt way of reaching, gesturing; a stiffness of posture, legs wide apart.

Is this at all normal, referring to oneself in the third person not once but twice? The split screen was back, but ye gods was it getting convoluted. Pause, breathe, into the back office and the team.

And a round of applause, hugs, kisses, thank god no strangers were present. They even had a birthday card for me, with the usual silly comments, and I understood the sentiment because someone less than subtle had altered it to read “Re-Birthday”

Remember, Steves don’t cry.

The day proceeded, nothing special, no drama, just me and the team and the punters, with a short visit by Nigel and Dilip to check how it was going. Dilip was curious.

“How the buggery bollocks do you hide your puppies, woman?”

“Rather a lot of elastic bandage, Dil. Want to see?”

He started to stammer. Oh dear, I’m a cockteaser! I giggled, and Sue snapped out a warning

“Careful, Steph, don’t spoil it now”

“Sorry, Sue, but he was gagging for it.”

“And you aren’t? All over that Geoff bloke you were…..oh deary me, it’s a stop sign! How far down does that blush go?”

She turned serious.

“You have a lot to learn, little sister, and you need to do it quickly and safely. Dave and the boys will beat the crap out of anyone that tries anything-“

“I can fight my own fights, thank you”

“Don’t we bloody know it. I’m not talking about that. There are threats other than the physical. Just promise me you will come to me if you need me. “

She paused.

“You know, I always thought you might be gay…”

“Well, I am not!”

“Oh, I know that now! Tell me….

“How big’s his cock?”

I did mention that the women in the job have a bit of a hard edge, didn’t I?

The days settled back into a routine. I worked my shifts, nothing seemed to be noticed by other staff, the training sessions went as they always did, though I did suspect that some of the tackle drills were a little lighter on me than they would normally have been, and apart from when I was on a set of night shifts Geoff seemed to have permanently extended his commute. I was being drilled mercilessly by Naomi and Albert, and I was told off quite sharply when I ventured that walking with a book on one’s head was from fiction rather than Roedean.

She was right, though. I did get the hang of the heels, but their sound on a hard floor was just like that of my cycling shoes. How odd….I imagined a group of shoe fetishists being disappointed when the clicking heels they heard approaching turned out to be a cyclist in SPDs.

They made the dress work, though. That was the thing. When Steph came out to the wider world, I wanted there to be no doubts at all. Full throttle ginger bit.

The weekend before the final, I was on earlies, and we–

Little Moment. Sorry. We, Geoff and I, invited the threesome down for a couple of days. Bill, being self-employed, arranged a free Monday, and term didn’t start for either Kelly or Jan until the Tuesday, so we had A Plan. Early turn Sunday would be followed by a trip out to Geoff’s local folk club for a badly-needed fix of string-related exercise.

You know, I can’t remember who we paid to see. I DO remember an elderly woman with the most amazing voice who sang “Bugeilio’r Gwenith Gwyn” in Welsh with us. I did have four pints of Red River, though. And being out as me, as us, distracted the hell out of me.

Jan and I went through the wardrobe for the dinner, as well as giving me the rather odd experience of being used as a make up palette. The match was to be in Coventry, and was being held at a local rugby club. When I say “post-match dinner”, do not get the idea of some gala presentation, nor of the more usual post-match affair of beer and pie floaters.

No, we would have a set meal, with the two finalist teams at a central table, the presentation of such things as the trophy, individual medals and “Man of the Match” award, to be chosen by the three match officials. Extra tables were set around, and guest tickets sold to raise funds for the Sports and Social Club. The programme was: beer, speeches and presentations, meal with beer, beer and then general socialising with a disco in the back room for those who had had enough beer.
Jan and Bill had booked rooms at a nearby motel for us all, and Jan had laughingly confirmed that she had assumed Geoff and I were already sharing and booked accordingly. Kell would, to her disgust, have to share with “the olds”

She had arrived with a squeal of “Aunty Steffy” until I threatened a spanking, and we were once more like two teenagers as we caught up. Certain bedroom events, and my nightmare, were obviously off limits, but the rest was delightful.

Geoff had surprised me by not only preparing a full roast dinner, but inviting Naomi and Albert around for it. Talk about getting his feet under the table! Albert astonished me, just like his wife, in taking everything with complete aplomb. No wonder my mother had been so fond of the duo, a thought that teared me up a little, or maybe that was the wine, a rather meaty Rioja.

Roast lamb. Roast tatws. Cauli. Carrots. Peas. Mint sauce………mmmmmmmmm. A sticky toffee pudding to finish, provided by the neighbours, with real custard. Cheeses including a particularly mature goat’s thing from France that walked onto the crackers by itself. I could get used to this.

And so it went, day by day, and when Geoff was near, kiss by kiss. I had 34 years of wasted time to make up for, and only a few days before I was out of gaol. It was all spoilt a little on the Tuesday.

Junior had a nasty little (well, quite big, really) cigarette smuggler and his gunter* of a wife, and when he said the words he was simply punched in the side of the head, with the muttered words “fucking seize that you black bastard”

Dave was over the other side of the channels, I was nearer, and took his legs away with a shin strike to the calves followed by a straight-arm take down as he stumbled. Dave was there immediately, quickly followed by others. To a litany of abuse from him and his obese wife I cuffed him, formally arrested him, cautioned him and then-

STUPID! STUPID!

On autopilot I did the PCEA 84**strip search post arrest, up to the point where I was about to tell him to get them off, and Dave….

Breathe.

Dave got me out of the room, ostensibly to write up my notebook, and got Long John in to be witness to the search.

Steve Jones, just fuck off and die will you.

Sue found me, crying ,in the Ladies’, of course.

“Steph, you OK?”

“Course not. Just got within a second of what might have been deemed an indecent assault on a prisoner”

“But that’s the thing. Within a second is not a problem. Dave sorted it, you just need to be ready for Custody when we get the tosser down there. Any injuries? I’ve called the Port Health quack over for Junior, he got a right wallop.

“Look, racially aggravated assault as well as good old-fashioned section 16, he’s buggered. Just get your face sorted and then Custody, and the CPS*** can sort all the charging crap out.”

She hugged me.

“You’ve found gossip central, then, Steph!”

Down to Custody, interviewed (such as it was: no nigger tells me what to do etc; can you speak up for the tape, please?) and down to the nick for charging.

I spent an awful lot of that night crying over Geoff. He spent what seemed like all of it holding me. When I quietened down, he got some rather fragrant oils he had sneaked in and I was given the back rub from…

Where would a good back rub come from? Wherever it was, it’s welcome back (sorry) any time.

Yup. Love that man. Really do.

*Gunter. Not a nice word at all.
**PCEA 84: Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984,also known as “PACE”
***CPS. Crown Prosecution Service. Now deals with criminal prosecutions for Customs as well as police. Known to them as the “Criminal Protection Service”