Crossing The Line Chapter 25 by Angharad Copyright© 2022 Angharad

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(title picture Andrea Piacquadio)

“What’s odd?” asked Jules puzzled by the look on Drew’s face.

“I sent Mad a text, ‘cos you said she hadn’t been home. I just got the reply….”

“And?” said Jules.

“See for yourself,” Drew tossed the phone to Jules, who only just managed to catch it. When it looked as if she might drop it, he felt a cold shudder go through him. Jules read the text.

“Busy. C U later. M.” “What’s wrong with that?” asked Jules.

“She always ends her texts, ‘LOL Mad XXX’, “said Drew.

“Do you think something’s up?” asked Dave, whose facial expression had gone from neutral to concerned.

“What do you mean, Dave?” said Jenny.

“That madman is still out there, and Maddy and Gaby look so alike…”

“Oh my God, you don’t think he’s got Maddy, do you?” Jenny’s question was asked with great anxiety.

“I don’t know any more than you do love, but it’s possible.” Dave placed his hand reassuringly on Jenny’s shoulder.

“You think the text was sent by Meadows,” said Jules to her father.

“I don’t know. All we know is that Maddy replied to Gaby’s text in way which is unusual. In itself it could be perfectly innocent, maybe she’s in a crowded shop or chatting with someone, or…”

“Kidnapped and held somewhere horrible by that fiend. I’ll bet there’s rats running everywhere and dripping water, and cow poo, and…”

“Juliette, please. We don’t know anything at the moment. If I can borrow your phone a minute Gaby, I’ll pop outside and call Carol, see if she knows anything.” Dave, took the mobile and went out of the ward.

“Why couldn’t he call from here?” asked Drew.

“Gabs, there’s a big sign which says something about switching your mobile off in case it interferes with hospital equipment.” Informed his elder sister.

“Oops!” said Drew, blushing. “I didn’t know.”

“You do now sweetheart,” said Jenny. “Changing the subject, if you’re going to be going to the gym, had we better bring in a few changes of clothes?”

“Might be nicer for Karen,” said Drew, lifting an arm and sniffing under it, at which Jules laughed and said something about ‘being gross’.

“What do you think has happened to Mad?” posed Jules, “Maybe she’s been done for shoplifting and incarcerated in some dank and dingy cell.”

“I don’t know where you get these ideas from, but they seem more outlandish than ever. Whatever you say about Maddy, dishonest is not one of them.” Jenny said this in a manner which pre-empted any further discussion.

“Coronation Street,” quipped Drew.

“What?” said his mother.

“She gets her ideas from Coronation Street and other soaps.”

“I do not,” snapped Jules indignantly, “At least I’m not a bicycle brain, with inner tubes coming out of my ears.” She sneered at Drew, then caught sight of the irritation in her mother’s face and sat down in a sulk.

Dave came rushing in, preventing escalation of the teenage spat. He saw Jules and Drew deliberately avoiding eye contact with each other. “You two at it again?” Jenny nodded as a reply. “Come on now knock it off, okay?” He didn’t quite go as far as to insist they shook hands, but it was close.

“What did Carol have to say?” asked Jenny.

“Not much. I spoke with Maddy.”
“Oh, so she’s alright then?”

“Yes, it appears she wasn’t too pleased with Missy Bond earlier, and you texted her as she was getting into a bubble bath. Hence the curt reply.” He laughed as he delivered the news.

“Thank goodness for that. You are going to have to curb that imagination of yours, Juliette Bond. Did you speak to Carol at all?”

“Yes, she asked if I’d prefer broccoli or cauliflower.” Dave smirked at his wife.

“Very funny,” she sniped back.

“It isn’t,” said Drew, “I’d love to have Auntie Carol’s cooking instead of hospital food.”

“Oh, we tried the cafeteria and thought it was quite good, didn’t we Dave?”

“Yeah, it was okay. Well old son, I mean, old girl,” he blushed as he addressed Drew, “I think it’s time we hit the road, your mum’s got some shopping to do and…”

“You don’t need to make excuses, Daddy, if you want to go, go. I’ll be alright.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” said Jenny as she reached in her bag and handed Drew the current edition of the comic. I got this one too.” She handed over a copy of Pro Cycling.

“Oh wow, thanks, Mum.” Drew’s eyes lit up when he saw the magazines. They all hugged and kissed him and then left, but Drew wasn’t too worried about that, he had some new bike mags to absorb.

He flicked through the comic and was astonished to see pictures taken from the television coverage of the race he’d won. It was entitled, “Murder at the Seaside,” and he read it avidly. Apparently there hadn’t been room before to run the story because of the clash with the Tour, which a certain American won yet again.

“What should have been a fun event and encouraged the people of Weymouth to think ‘bike’, turned into a tragedy when two of the riders were deliberately run down by a rogue car. One of the riders died of his injuries at the scene despite the best efforts of paramedic crews.

The other rider, Gaby Bond, daughter of current Women’s World Champion, Jenny Bond, wasn’t badly hurt and went on to win the race with characteristic Bond guts. She carried her damaged prototype Specialized carbon over the finish line to tremendous applause by all watching.

What is so strange about this horrible crime was that it was committed in front of a visiting TV crew, who captured it all on video, yet the perpetrator remains at large having escaped from police custody; a worrying aspect of the case.

We have since learned that Gaby had a subsequent accident and is recovering in hospital down in sunny Dorset, and her mum, Jenny has withdrawn from at least one race since, to be with her younger daughter. We wish Gaby a speedy recovery.”

In one of the somewhat fuzzy pictures Drew could see himself airborne as the 4x4 passed his back wheel. “Jeez!” he exclaimed to himself as he looked at the pictures.

“What’s that young lady?” asked Suzanne, overhearing his comment.

“This picture in the comic,” Drew showed the nurse.

After studying it for a few moments, she said, “Crikey, this is you, isn’t it?”

“Flying through the air with the greatest of ease…” said Drew.

“You only just missed that wall, you could have been killed,” gasped Suzanne.

“I know, I know,” conceded the wunderkind.

“So how many lives have you used up now?” said Suzanne smiling.

“Two or three, I suppose, unless you count the crash I had in Warsop when some idiot pulled out in front of me, I flew over his bonnet and bashed my leg that time.”

“Dangerous business, this cycling.”

“Sometimes we get it wrong, hit a bend too fast or skid off the road, but usually it’s those idiots in cars. They act like they own the road, and don’t seem to see us at all. I mean, along the Cuckney ten, there are signs warning of cyclists, yet every year someone gets hit off. So far no one has been killed, but a lad in one of my races had his collar bone broken in a collision with a car. It was the driver, didn’t see him apparently. Turned out he’d just come from the pub.”

“Did he get prosecuted?” asked Suzanne.

“Dunno, I ‘spect so, forgot to ask.”

“I need to give you your pills and take your blood pressure, so move over champ.” The nurse carried out her duties, smiling at Drew as she did so.

“Yuck!” said Drew swallowing the antibiotics, “Why can’t they make these things nicer to take?”

“Didn’t you know, that the nastier they taste, the more good they do you?”

“What!” exclaimed Drew, “That can’t be true, can it?” He scrutinised Suzanne’s face to see if there was any clue to whether she was pulling his leg or was serious.

“So that means these must be doing, like miracles?”

“What d’you mean?” she asked Drew.

“Well they taste like I imagine sheep cack would taste.”

“Why sheep?”

“Well alright then rabbit’s or dog poo, I don’t care, they’re just yucky.”

“I suppose sheep do have relatively dry droppings and these pills are dry. Yeah, I can see your analogy,” Susan smiled at him, knowing fully that she was winding him up.

“It doesn’t like, matter,” said an exasperated Drew.

“But of course it does, I have to record anything you say about your treatment,” said Suzanne, knowing it was a partly true statement.

“How are you gonna spell cack?” asked Drew, almost certain she was teasing him.

“C-A-C-K,” she spelled out to him, “Or could it be C-A-Q-U-E ?” She had difficulty keeping a straight face with the latter.

“French sheep, are they?” asked Drew, recognising the spelling of a French sounding word. “Would they be spelled with French letters?” Now it was his turn to try and hold a straight face, while Suzanne sat on the bed chuckling.

“If you get fed up cycling, you should become a comedienne,” she added when she had stopped laughing.

“My mother calls me a clown at times, so maybe I’ll run off to a circus. Then they’ll be sorry,” he pretended to sulk and pout as he said this and once again Suzanne was chuckling. “I feel sorry for your boyfriend, if you tease him like this.”

“Worse, some days,” said Drew matter-of-factly, although he knew she wouldn’t believe him. At the same time, he had treated Harry quite snottily when they first knew each other, but then Harry had taken the odd liberty, too. He recalled how Harry had kissed him on the mouth without his agreement and how upset he’d been. When Harry pecked him on the cheek as he left, Drew had almost felt a disappointment, as if maybe a kiss on the lips now, would be received more tolerably. In fact, if he were the boy instead of being a girl, he’d have practically insisted upon it. But being a girl, it could give the wrong impression and you never know where it could end. He could get pregnant for God’s sake.

“You worrying about something?” asked Suzanne.

“No, why?” said Drew.

“Your BP went skywards, that’s all.”

“I was thinking of that race when Meadows tried to kill me,” Drew told a porkie, but only because he feared what Suzanne would say if he had told the truth. If she knew he was a boy, she would laugh at him and probably tell the other nurses. It was a mistake, of course he couldn’t get pregnant, but he was thinking something through to its natural conclusion. That was all. He felt himself blush.

“It’s still quite high Gaby. Look, I’ll come back in ten minutes and we’ll try again. Okay?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I’ll try and think of something else.”

“Something peaceful, like watching swans on a river.”

“What chasing a dog that got too close?” he joked.

“No! Now stop teasing me or I’ll give you an enema.”

“Oh shit!” said Drew a cold feeling entering his whole being, “I’ll behave.”

“Good girl, ten minutes then.”

Suzanne came back and took Drew’s BP, this time it was okay. “Thought you might like to see this. She handed him the local Echo. He reluctantly put down his Cycling Weekly and picked up the paper.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?” he asked the retreating figure of the nurse.

“You’ll know when you see it,” she called back.

Drew began to cursorily exam each page, but saw nothing to meet the criterion he was being led to believe was there. Wearily he turned over to page eight, and then he saw it. “World Champion to open hospital fete.” Underneath was a picture of his mother, in cycling gear.

“World Champion cyclist, Jenny Bond, is to open the Dorset County Hospital fete, on Saturday week. She told our reporter, “My daughter, Gaby, who had an accident a week or two ago, needed the help of the hospital. Thankfully, she is nearing full recovery. Dave and I decided we’d like to give something back to the hospital.”

Gaby Bond, the teenage cycling phenomenon, will be remembered as the winner of the Dorwey Challenge race, which ended in tragedy for one of the riders when he was deliberately run down by a car. It is believed the driver was Rod Meadows, who escaped from police custody last week and is still wanted in connection with this incident.

Since the race, Gaby had an accident and nearly drowned, however, a source at the hospital, tells us she is nearly fully recovered and we hope, will accompany her mum to the opening of the fete along with her father David and sister Juliette.”

“Oh bugger!” said Drew to himself, “Looks like I’m going whether or not I want to.”

“What’s wrong with our fete?” said a voice, which he didn’t see because he still had the paper in front of him. He jumped in surprise, something which he was sure he wouldn’t have done a month or two ago.

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with your fete.”

“You implied it,” said the voice, which Drew identified as belonging to Suzanne.

“I didn’t mean to.” Drew began to blush, thinking about enemas and the earlier threat.

“Should have thought of that, before saying it.” Suzanne’s voice carried a hint of menace to Drew. However, had he stopped to think, he would have known that she couldn’t have threatened him anyway, it would be tantamount to abuse if not assault to administer an enema without medical need, something for which she could have lost her job and possibly her registration as a nurse. But being Drew, he didn’t stop to think and was still feeling under threat.

“I’m sorry,” he squeaked.

“Too late,” said the voice, “Now you’ll have to suffer the penalty.”

Drew cringed as she came into his room, “What’s the penalty?” he asked almost flinching and clenching his buttocks as he spoke.

“A cup of hospital tea,” she said, placing the cup on his table. The look of relief on his face caused her to roar with laughter.

“Horrible nurse,” he exclaimed and then laughed too.

“If you could have seen your face Gaby, it was a picture,” said Suzanne, still chuckling away to herself.

“Anyway, I can only come to your fete if they send me home before. I might, like, relapse,”

“Oh no you won’t, cause then I’ll get the doctors to prescribe two enemas a day until you feel better.”

“I feel much better already,” joked Drew, “I’ll just get dressed and go home.”

“Sit there and drink your tea,” said Suzanne in a mock authoritarian voice. Then a moment later, she said, “I’m trying to get your mum to wear her cycling stuff to open the fete, and I was hoping you would too.”

“Walking round in cycle gear isn’t that comfortable, it’s meant to be used on a bike not for walking. The shoes, to start with are definitely not for walking far in, and you try wearing cycle shorts with a chamois in hot weather, it’s like wearing a giant ST.”

“ST?” repeated Suzanne, “ST?” Drew let her work it out. After a few moments she said, “What, a sanitary towel?” she whispered to him.

“Yes, an ST?” he whispered back.

“Oh!” she said, “Shows I don’t ride a bike too often.”

“It’s only for wearing on racing saddles really, or for riders doing long distances or long periods on the bike. Some of the Tour de France stages are over a hundred miles, so you’d need some protection from the friction of the saddle.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I haven’t watched any cycle races, so I wouldn’t know, but I will in future. So we won’t get you all dressed up in your racing strips, then?”

“Skins,” he corrected her, “We race in skins, some are so tight, they are like a second skin.”

“Oh,” she said again, “Coming in here is quite educational. I suppose all sports have their own jargon.”

“Yeah, s’pose so,” agreed Drew.

“So will you dress up in your skins for me, then?”

“Dunno, I’ll have to talk with Mum first.”

“Of course, now drink your tea.”

As Drew drank his tea, he thought about what he could wear. Certainly his Specialized shirt and shorts, and unless he had to ride a bike, perhaps a pair of trainers. Only real bikies would notice, and they’d understand. He wondered if they’d manage to get Jules and his father in skins too. That would be a laugh. Jules would go ape and his dad wouldn’t be too keen either. It would show his pot belly, which was only noticeable when he wore something tight, or when he was in just his swim suit. Dave played squash when he could, but never more than once a week, so he wasn’t in to strenuous sports like his wife and son, the squash he played was strenuous enough.

Why did they have to put his name in the paper? He couldn’t work that out. His mum was the celebrity, not him. Then he recalled the incident in the King’s Arms, when he was approached for his autograph after his picture appeared in the paper. At least this time, he was spared that. At the same time part of him enjoyed the celebrity.

In the early days, when no one seemed to recognise him as Gaby, it could be quite fun. The time he and Jenny set up the guy from the comic, that was quite funny, he couldn’t take his eyes of Gaby in that short yellow dress. “Pity I haven’t got it here,” Drew said to himself, “it would certainly get Harry’s undivided attention.” He chuckled to himself.

Sometimes he quite enjoyed the attention he attracted as a pretty young thing. It didn’t take too much effort, apart from the getting dressed bit, and once you were there, boys and men fell over themselves to do things for you. If you were a boy, they’d ignore you completely, expecting you to do it yourself, whatever it was. Sometimes older women might try to mother you, but that wasn’t fun at all, it was almost claustrophobic. No, the girls got the better deal there, for sure.

He wasn’t sure what he’d wear yet, it would largely depend on what Jenny wore and it wasn’t an option as to whether he appeared as Drew or Gaby, that had already been decided. However, how ‘hot’ he looked, and how hot and bothered Harry got, was still up for grabs. He was beginning to look forward to the fete and to teasing Harry and any other young blood who showed up.

Meanwhile, not a million miles away, someone with less benign intentions was also reading the Echo. “So Barbie will be at the hospital fete, and they are holding it on the County showground. It couldn’t be better.” The voice laughed to himself, “You can do the opening Jenny Bond, but it will be my closure, which they’ll remember for a very long time. Yes, indeed they will, for a very, very long time.”