Something to Declare by Cyclist

Chapter 26

There was fallout from the prank, of course. But nowhere near as spectacular as the fallout we all witnessed that night.

We heard he had to spend the night in the medical room as he was unable to move far from a toilet for rather a long time. Geoff reminded me of what he had said after the match, about upsetting me, and affirmed that he was glad I was on his side. Male humour being what it is, the young hangers-on of Mr Whoopsy were so impressed by my actions that I became a sort of mascot to them, and Geoff a minor celebrity in the office. Apparently, everyone had always disliked the idiot.

Apparently.

There was also, it seems, a similar reaction to Geoff’s: “Not to be messed with” was the new feeling around the workforce, especially among those who lived some distance from a dry cleaner.

Geoff said thank you to me that night in ways that we both enjoyed, after we had managed to escape both Jan, and Naomi, who had stayed up awaiting our return. I swear the latter is channelling the spirit of Benny Hill with her sense of humour, but I am fully in harmony with her fierce protectiveness.

Nobody messes with my man. Ever. Except me, of course.

I realised the intensity of the fall-out from the clifftop when I first woke from one of my nightmares to find Geoff awake from one of his own. This will sound perverse, but I felt far better knowing that it wasn’t just me suffering doubts and fears, in the sense that I finally realised that it wasn’t all one way. I was actually doing something for my partner…and another word came to my mind as I pondered mutual care, mutual support, love.

That word was “mate”. Not in the sense that Dave often used it, but in the older sense of life partner. Man and his mate, that was us. I almost sniggered at the thought of mating, fnaar, fnaar, but for some reason tears were never far away when I watched him sleep. My life had changed so much because of this man, and, yes, I go on and on about it, but it is so important to me I cannot say it enough.

This man and his love validated me. He gave me strength to bite back at the sexist bitches at work, the homophobes (why the hell pick on me, you thick tossers? I’m straight!) and transphobes who still occasionally read me. Without him, I would probably still be sitting here committing slow suicide by bottle.

But I digress: it was getting around to Christmas, and we had to decide on where we would spend it. As I said, we had planned to go up to Oxford, but I ended up rostered to work an early shift on Christmas Day. So…

I know this may seem premature, but I couldn’t imagine spending it without what was becoming more and more my own family. Naomi and Albert had their own family visiting, and I wanted mine; the thought of driving all the way to Oxford after work did not appeal, and I had plenty of room. Even for Kelly’s new ….friend.

Please, please, don’t let him be one of those who wear a woolly hat all year!

Geoff’s folk club (I keep doing this; OUR folk club) had a song and dance night arranged for Christmas Eve, and so we ordered a delivery of Woodruffs in time to get down there and play. Some dancing might occur, too, but we were overdue a bit of hair-loosening. It turned out that Kell’s friend was completely and utterly unmusical. What was she thinking of? We needed a bass section, so couldn’t he just…

Apparently no, he couldn’t. He made that very clear in the first dance, when he demonstrated a complete lack of any sense of rhythm. Damn.

I should explain for non-dancers that there are people on the traditional scene who insist everything must be done JUST SO, JAWOHL!!!! They are known as ceilidh Nazis. There are those who suggest that there are no rules as long as fun is had. They are known as idiots.

Then there are those who realise that most people want to “get it right”, and that a little bit of help and listening for the music to tell when to move go a long way. Dancing is a social event; help your neighbour, and have more fun yourself.

Once more, a diversion. Just a short one. Is it possible to relax into a new perceived gender so completely in such a short time or does it need a Geoff? I haven’t t said anything about him for at least, oh, a paragraph. Don’t mind me, carry on. But it was so evident that he was now relaxing into our relationship rather than working at it, and that touched me deeply. When a couple is newly formed, they walk on eggshells around each other to avoid upsetting the semi-stranger next to them. It’s a bit like the mating rituals of some birds–look, I’m turning my sharp pointy beak away, I’m not here to hurt you.

No, there is a difference between a man who tries not to fart because he’s scared you might get up and leave, and a man who tries not to fart simply because he knows you don’t like it and he sees your happiness as important to him. It’s the difference between fear and love.

He still farts, though, but usually when sleeping.

Anyway, Jamie, Kelly’s beau, didn’t seem too bad a lad, although he admitted to me that he felt not only out of his depth but a little inadequate, excluded even, when we settled into that groove as we played. I know I am intense and fully absorbed when I play, but it isn’t meant to keep people out; that’s what sessions are all about. I resolved to do some digging, and see what little gems Jamie had in his own bag of tricks. Find out what he’s good at, and give him his own opportunity to dazzle.

I was straight to bed when we got in, ready for my early turn, and didn’t notice Geoff when he slipped in beside me at some unknown hour. The house was dark and silent as I tiptoed out to avoid my cleats ticking away on the kitchen floor, and I really needed the fleecy hat in the raw morning wind. Half an hour of empty roads later I was changing in my little room and heading off to the Channels. It often surprises people that the place is open on Christmas Day, but there is always almost a full list of flights, and the planes aren’t empty. Traditionally, the staff on duty bring in nibbles and treats, and make as much of the day as they can, but it is still work. My Christmases had always been worked, as I could never face the prospect of an empty house and an equally empty soul. This was the first time I had ever wanted to be elsewhere, and I was counting the minutes until the relief arrived. I sorted some e-mails, and helped one of the others bag up a load of cigarettes seized from yet another knuckle dragger. I noticed the smuggler staring at me quite a bit as we worked, and I assumed he was just another bigot trying to work out what I was.

Changed again, back out into the sun, not yet having seen it that day, and I was soon spinning up the road to home, where I was fully expecting a gigantic Christmas dinner, and half-expecting something else. I wasn’t disappointed.

The house had been fully decorated while I was at work, and from somewhere Bill had produced a tree. I had a vision of him sneaking out to Buchan Park with a saw…nah, not my Bill. Kelly, maybe.

And there were presents under said tree, including the one I had wrapped for Geoff, which was a new Brooks Swift saddle, in honey, with copper rivets, and I am drooling as I think back to it. He had been riding on a B17 for years, and I thought that this, once broken in, would offer an alternative. We had plenty of time before PBP; they can take 200 miles to break in properly, but to Geoff that was a single ride.

Geoff presented me with a little package that turned out to hold a small silver locket. When I popped it open, I realised that he had been working with Bill on my present. They had obviously taken a scan of one of the photographs in the house, and they had sized it to fit in the locket. There, wrapped, was a picture of my parents taken on a walk out by Poll Carn, smiling into the sun as I took the picture. My dad, tall, dark-haired, squinting slightly in a cheap checked shirt I remembered buying him from a discount outdoors shop, and Mam in one she’d bought herself so she could match her husband. I realised what Naomi meant about our colouring, our hair…what a truly inspired present

Gifts are best appreciated when they show thought, as that shows care, or even love for the recipient. The boys had obviously put a lot of all of those into my gift. The cost was irrelevant, this time, it really was the thought that was there in front of me.

Of course, that got them both a kiss, and then I went off to shower and change.

The dinner was the opportunity I had been waiting for. Jamie had done rather a lot of it, including making stuffing from scratch to his mother’s recipe, and he seemed to have a real knack for cookery. I made sure that he was given the appropriate boost to his ego, and resolved to let him loose in the kitchen again if he came back. After all, Kelly was still only fourteen, and their passions can be fleeting.

At about seven thirty, the Woods came around with their son and his family, and as the children (including Kelly and Jamie) squealed over new delights, we “olds” shared some wine. I realised Geoff was looking a little on edge, and when he went for another bottle I cornered him in the kitchen.

“Anything up, love?” I asked him

“No, not at all, but I have another present I want to be sure is welcome before I offer you it”

“Do tell….”

“Well…..I was wondering…if keeping my flat in Horsham really makes sense….”

“Geoff Woodruff, are you asking to live with me?”

“Er…yes….”

I kissed him as an answer, but I made him repeat The Promise first. I’m not daft.