Easy As Testing For EPO!
by Angharad
part: 351

I heard Stella’s footsteps retreat into the bedroom, and quietly opened the door. I peered into the bedroom, she was sitting up in bed reading. I walked purposefully towards the bed and got in, pulling the bedclothes over me.

“Hmm, you’ve marked your face with that stupid pack,” she said.

“It’ll heal,” I said dismissively.

“Ooh, get you, macho girl!”

“Can we stop this messing around. I’m finding it very wearing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Stella. I’ve told you I don’t do practical jokes and I don’t do girl on girl stuff. If you want to do it, that’s fine, but not in my room or with me.”

“Okay, that’s pretty plain. I was only trying to have some fun, I didn’t mean you any harm.”

“I did indicate earlier that I wasn’t into such fun, but you wouldn’t listen. So now, I’m feeling anything but ‘fun’ like. In fact, I feel quite upset.”

“Oh, Cathy, I really didn’t mean to upset you. I suppose I got a bit carried away. I’m sorry.” She stared at me and then saw the tears. “You’re not joking are you?”

I couldn’t answer I felt so choked up. I shook my head but the tears continued to trickle down my face. I felt so disappointed that the weekend I’d hoped would be so good, was anything but.

“Do you want me to go? Maybe I’d better.” She began to get out of the bed.

I shook my head, “No, I don’t want you to go. I love my sister, I thought she loved me.” Then the dam broke and I bawled my head off.

Stella came and sat alongside me, and hugged me as I howled, she was crying too. “I do love you, Cathy; I do love you. Truly, I do.”

“Why did you have to hurt me?” I sobbed.

“I didn’t mean to, I got carried away.” She was sobbing nearly as much as I was, “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you keep doing it, I don’t like it, and I keep telling you–but you don’t listen.”

“I’m listening now–baby sister, I’m listening now.” She hugged me tighter than ever.

I didn’t know if I could believe her or trust her ever again and I felt I had to say so. “If you do this to me again, I will never speak to you ever again.”

“I won’t, Cathy, I swear I won’t.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you, because it seems you can’t stop it.”

“I will stop, I won’t do it to you, ever, ever again. Please don’t shun me, Cathy, I couldn’t cope with that; I really couldn’t. I really would die, I really would.”

I put my arm around her, “I love you,” I said, “as my sister. I always wanted a sister.”

“Oh, Cathy, I hate myself, I really do, please forgive me. I love you too and I always wanted a sister as well. We are made for each other, why do I always spoil it?”

There was a knock at the door and Tom poked his head around, “Everything all right?”

I nodded at him, “Yeah, we’re just doing some girly stuff. It’s okay.”

“Sure?” he asked.

I nodded, “Sure,” I said and he closed the door.

“He probably thinks we’re barmy,” said Stella.

“He’d be quite right, we are. Look at us, two grown women weeping in each other’s arms. We probably look a right pair of plonkers.”

Stella started to laugh, an infectious laugh and I joined her. If Tom had looked in now, he’d have sent for the men in white coats, the ones with the straight jackets.

“We’re a right pair, aren’t we?” she said and we started to laugh again, a little at first, egging on each other until we were helpless with mirth. My tummy began to hurt from the giggling.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a cuppa,” I said and got out of bed.

“Yeah, okay,” agreed Stella and we ended up in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting, until about one o’clock on the Sunday morning. An early bike ride, there was not going to be.

I awoke at nine, my eyes were all red and sticky from the night before and I had to bathe them with some warm water. Stella was still asleep when I left her and went in search of some breakfast.

Tom was in the kitchen: he was reading a Sunday paper, which presumably he had gone out and got. I made myself some cereal and sat and looked at the sports pages. Nothing on cycling, so no change there then! How could they do fourteen pages of bloody football? I folded it up and threw it down on the floor.

“No cycling?” said Tom, peeping over the top of his glasses and the edge of the paper.

“Very funny,” I rebuked him.

“How about this then?” He shoved the colour magazine in front of me.

“Jeez, Vickie Pendleton in the buff,” my heroine, well one of them perched on her bike wearing just a helmet!

“I like the new women’s strip,” said Tom, sniggering.

“Yeah, you would,” I retorted indignantly.

“Now, now,” he said firmly, “No one has forced her to pose, nor did anyone force you to look at it.”

“Yeah, all right, although I don’t know if it enhances her reputation or diminishes it.”

“Enhances, definitely. Let’s face it, she has a nice body, so why not show it?”

“Because she wants to be seen as a serious athlete, not a bimbo on a bike.”

“I don’t think anyone who’s seen her ride, would think that, would they?”

“I’ll bet they don’t have one of Chris Hoy inside, wearing the same kit,” I said angrily.

“No, probably not. Would you be pleased if they did?”

“Rob Hayles, I would.” I smiled at him.

“Oh the one they had to leave out.”

“Yeah, that was total nonsense, you watch–they’ll monitor him for the next three weeks and all it’ll show is he has a high natural haemocrit level.”

“What’s a haemocrit?” asked Stella walking into the kitchen.

“A blood result, they measure your blood cells, especially red ones. If you have too many, it could mean you are using something like EPO, which causes the marrow to produce more red cells.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Stella, her gaze fell on the cover of the magazine, “Oh, she’s nice, who is she?”

“It can cause a form of polycythaemia,” said Tom.

“Me nurse, you nutty professor,” said Stella. “Who’s this?” She pointed at the magazine.

“Pendleton,” I said, without disguising my disapproval.

“Nice body,” said Stella.

“That’s what I thought,” said Tom, “Germain Greer, here, thought it was verging on pornography.”

“I didn’t say that,” my indignation rising.

“Not in so many words,” he replied.

“I suppose she wanted Lance Armstrong on the cover?” offered Stella.

“No, Rob somebody or other,” Tom corrected.

“Rob Hayles. I’m going up to change, then I’m going for a bike ride. If you’re coming Stella, don’t take all morning.” With that I vacated the kitchen feeling irritable. Maybe I needed to see Dr Thomas, things were getting to me that usually I took in my stride. I wondered if I should just move on and forget everyone and everybody here. Were they worth the effort? I went up to my bedroom filled with all sorts of questions.