Something to Declare by Cyclist

CHAPTER 14

Dave turned up on time on Tuesday morning and I loaded almost all of my kit into his estate car. Geoff had insisted I keep custody of our instrument, so in it went, and Dave pointedly hinted he could take the bike (and me) as well.

“Thanks, mate, but I really want time to think on the way back. Thanks for being so very good a friend. Please take it the right way…but I really love you. See you in two days.”

It was the first time I ever saw Dave blush, and he hugged me hard before he set off, giving Geoff a nod and a raised eyebrow. Geoff and I returned to the family, where I said my goodbyes and made sure they had all of my details before they tactfully left the two of us alone.

“What are you doing in two days’ time, Geoff?”

“Holding your hand if you want me”

We kissed, and hugged, and held, and cradled, and….rode together to the station and did it some more, until my train left him on the platform and me to my thoughts.

The next two days hardly flew by, as I was back in Steve mode by basic necessity. I hated every moment, and when the time came for my appointment with Sally I wore a scooped top and one of the dinky bras under a windproof. Sally was all professional, going into great and incisive detail about the weekend’s events. I gave her my open/closed door analogy, and she nodded, looked up and grinned before coming to me and hugging me hard. I left her on cloud nine after we had spent some time looking at pictures; Geoff met with her approval, and she put first dibs on him if I ever dumped the poor man. Only one thing was a concern to me: Sally was worried that she had become too close to me as a friend to function properly in her capacity as an analyst, and now lacked the necessary distance. She was taking advice on that, and would let me know in due course.

That same evening was the planned meet up at the Norfolk. This was where the team would either pull with me or give me problems I could not see myself being able to deal with. I tied my hair back, wearing much the same as I had for Sally, and having arrived fashionably and deliberately late grabbed Geoff from the lounge and went upstairs carrying a pint of Red River each.

Eleven pairs of eyes met ours as we walked in and sat down next to Dave. He stood up, waited for silence, and said

“Right, Jonesy here has an announcement, but before that I want a promise from every one of you. What is said and done here tonight does not leave this room. If there is anyone who cannot promise that, you will leave now”

Nobody moved. Dave drew a deep breath and let out a long sigh.

“Now, boys and girls, we all know how worried we have been about this team mate here, how we felt they were about to crash and burn. Well, it turns out that there were very good reasons for our concern, and we are here tonight to show and pledge our support. Are we all agreed?”

There was a chorus of grunts and nods. Geoff squeezed my hand under the table; I had already untied my hair, and I stood up slowly and unzipped my windproof.

“Bugger me” said Long John.

The team were muttering and commenting to each other, themselves and, it seemed, their deity. I had chosen a top and bra combination that left no doubt that I had a chest, and the three-quarter-length sleeves were decidedly feminine. Sue stood up and walked straight to me, scanning me critically as she came.

“This explains a hell of a lot. Welcome to the club. It suits you, it really does, but what do we call you now?”

“Steph…”

“Thank fuck for that. As I get older my memory goes. Who are you again?”

She hauled me into a bonewrenching hug, and one by one the others did much the same, all apart from Nigel the Union.

“I can see now why I was ‘requested’ to attend this meeting. We need to talk at some length so that I know what route you intend to follow. For starters, do you intend to stay with the Department?”

“Bloody hell aye”

“Well, would it be easier for us to meet in private somewhere? “

We arranged for him to call at my house in two days’ time, and as I was being hugged by Tom the team leader, Little John piped up

“Two questions, Steph! Firstly, who the hell is that bloke in the lycra, and more importantly, what the hell are we going to do for an open-side in the regional final next month?”

“Nice priorities lad” said Geoff.

“Firstly, I’m what you would call her boyfriend. Secondly, we have spoken a lot about this. She feels that the team, the teams, have both been so supportive over the last few years that she owes them one last outing. Psycho Steve the Smiling Assassin will be coming to your ball, but unsurprisingly she won’t be sharing the showers”

All through this he was holding my hand, out in public. I could feel the muscle in my right thigh trembling, and I was near to tears yet again. I realised everyone in the room, in one way or another, was measuring my worth, looking for remnants of the late Steve, and coming to their own decision as to what they felt about what could hardly have sat well in such company. I was discarding my masculinity, after all, and even the women in the job had a necessarily hard edge.

Dave brought us all to order with a bang on the table.

“Boys and girls, I want a show of hands. If there is anyone here who has any problem at all with Steph, raise your hand now”

Proudly I saw that all hands stayed down.

No. Little John’s went up sharply. Shit.

“Well?” said Dave.

“It’s simple, really. She’s standing there in those baggy shorts, how are us arse men supposed to check her out?”

The dark shadows fled as a roar of laughter went up. I saw my chance.

“Geoff and I are off to get changed. Curry, and more beer, half an hour, the Light of India!”

I looked across at Little John, and he winked and blew me a kiss.

The Light is only a ten minute walk from my house, so when we got back I slipped into the trusty Laura Ashley number and a pair of ballet flats. Geoff was staying over, and I had already had another Little Moment on first seeing two teethbrushes in the bathroom. All I will say about the curry night is that we were merry, rather loud, and eventually in fine and superbly filthy vocal style. Dave’s rendition of “The Alphabet”, surely the filthiest rugby song in existence, was faultless, though some of the other patrons may not have agreed.

Geoff and I [veil drawn over canoodling] said our goodnights, and off he went to the spare bedroom. I slipped into a sleep shirt and

Woke up in a long, bare room. A row of grey iron bedsteads with blue blankets and white sheets stood against the far wall, and I realised I was in one of a similar row on this side of the ward, for that was what it was.

A pair of shambling figures was walking towards me, one moaning for a nurse as he tried to pull out what was clearly a catheter, the other dribbling in long strings and spraying piss about as he walked. A scream rose from behind them

“NIGHTFIGHTER! CORKSCREW LEFT!!! CORKSCREW LEFT!!! HE’S FIRING!!! FIRE!!! FIRE!! GET OUT oh god oh fuck they’re burning they’re dying…” trailing off into sobbing.

The first old man burst into flames with a soft ‘whump”, and I could smell him cook. Then the second…and a small fire started to burn right between my legs and I screamed and

Geoff was holding me and calling my name. I promptly vomited all over him.