Crossing The Line Chapter 31 by Angharad Copyright© 2022 Angharad

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(title picture Andrea Piacquadio)

In ten hours, I have to go to a strange salon and pretend to enjoy having my hair done like a girl; reflected Drew as he slipped between the sheets. It had been a strange day: the dismembered doll; Harry’s ‘come on’ and then the argument and subsequent make up with Jules.

The chat with Jules was probably the best bit; at least they had cleared some of the misunderstandings out of the way and she knew how he felt. No matter what his body was doing, he was most definitely a boy, but did his bum look as big as Jules’ did in cycle shorts? He had also forgotten to moisturise; so he clambered out of bed and with more a sense of duty than enthusiasm, he unscrewed the lid of the jar and dipped his fingers in the cold and gooey cream. He spread it gently around his face and neck, massaging as Maddy had shown him. Why am I even thinking about this? He glanced almost disgustedly at his reflection in the mirror, a small blob of cream residual on the tip of his nose. He looked cock-eyed at it, and by straining could just about manage to see it. He also caught sight of the double image, blurred in the mirror, but absurd enough for it to make him laugh. Still chuckling to himself he rubbed the small blob until it was absorbed by his skin.

Back in bed, he read his ‘girly’ bedtime magazine, Procycling, disgusted that his hero David Millar had been caught in possession of EPO, or erythropoietin; a hormone secreted by the kidneys to produce red blood cells. The idea of the drug is to increase the number of red blood cells thereby giving an advantage over someone with a normal amount, by being able to carry more oxygen to the tissues.

He’d read in Dave’s newspaper how the certain cells in the kidney produce the hormone in response to low oxygen levels, stimulating the production of more red blood cells. The danger however, is if you have too many, they can cause the blood to become sticky and risk clots forming or even a stroke.

Drew felt very let down by Millar’s weakness, the World Champion time triallist, and he cheated. Drew felt he didn’t need to, he was such a brilliant cyclist he didn’t need to cheat. Then to be dumb enough to keep the syringes and thus the evidence to convict him; how stupid can you get? A two year ban was mandatory and good bye to any Olympic aspirations. Drew swore to himself, that no matter how good or pressured he became, he would never take drugs to enhance his performance. Nicole Cooke had declared her support for a drug free sport, and he wholeheartedly agreed with her. She looked nice, and was a mean racer.

When Jules came up to bed half an hour later, the wunderkind was asleep; so she quietly switched off the light and put his magazine on the floor. A short time later she was asleep herself.

Drew was in a strange place, well it was Gaby who was there; she was about to start a race when someone walked up to her and said, “We found some hormones in your urine sample.”

“What does that mean?” she replied, beginning to wonder if she would be pulled from the worlds.

“Nothing, it was all oestrogen;” laughed the official.

“You knew about that beforehand, I declared that I have to take a small supplement.”

“I know girl, I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to wind you up.”

“Thanks a bunch, it’s all I need when I’m about to race.”

“Go on, you’re a Bond girl, like your mother, nothing rattles you. Get out there and show them how to do it.”

“But I’m not my mother, am I?

“No luv, you’re even prettier than she is, so get those lovely legs pumping and win us a medal.”

“I thought Nicole was the favourite?” said Gaby.

“She might be, but she needs your help to become World Champion; remember it’s all about teamwork, and you being the British number two woman racer and top twenty ranking, means she has the best chance yet.”

“I don’t pay any attention to those ranking things;” said Gaby; “Each race is there to be won by someone; I just try to make it me as often as I can.”

“So you going to take up her offer and switch to Raleigh-LifeForce ?”

“I’ll think about it, but it would have to be something pretty good to stop me riding for Specialized. I mean they even developed a bike for me.”

“I think they see you as a future world champion, and that’s about as good publicity as you can get.”

“I’d like to think I could win it.” With that the riders were called to start the race and Gaby went off with the other members of the Great Britain team, who behind their leader Cooke, forced themselves through the rest of the field and set a blistering pace.

In the next two and a half hours Gaby and Nicole chased down everything that tried to breakaway and then five kilometres out, they, an Aussie and Canadian managed a break themselves. Taking it in turns to lead for a few hundred meters at a time; they upped the pace and increased the lead over the rest of the peloton.

Then at half a K out, on Nicole’s signal, Gaby began to rocket away, with Nicole on her shoulder. The British burst caught the others momentarily by surprise, they thought they were in for a sprint finish; by which time they were ten meters adrift and slipping further behind.

A hundred meters out Nicole Cooke, flew past Gaby as per the plan to win her first World Championship, her exhausted colleague making second by half a wheel from the Canadian and the Australian.

Gaby jumped off her bike, and despite aching lungs and legs rushed over to Nicole and squealing with delight, high-fived her and then they hugged.

“Gabs you alright?” called Jules shaking her sister’s shoulder.

“We did it Nic... What? What’s happening?” Drew shook himself and opened his eyes, unable to work out quite where he was. “Where’s Nicole?”

“Who?” asked Jules.

“Nicole Cooke, I just helped win the Worlds, ‘n’ I got a second. It was brill.”

“I’ll give you brill, Gaby Bond, your squeals woke me up just as John was going to propose,” said the indignant sibling.

“Propose to do what?” asked the bemused younger Bond.

“Gaby Bond, I sometimes I wonder if anything ever happens inside that pretty head of yours, except bike racing. Goodnight,” so saying, she jumped back into her own bed trying to get back into her dream.

“I wonder what he was proposing to do?” muttered Drew to himself, then the penny dropped. “Proposing, he’s not is he?” said Drew loudly; sitting up.

“An’ why shouldn’t he?” came a sleepy reply, “That’d make you a bridesmaid, sister o’mine;” said a now smirking Jules.

“Oh shite,” was the response from under the bedclothes in the next bed.

Drew then imagined himself wearing a long dress in a peach colour, helping Jules out of a bridal car. Part of him wanted to think about something else, but another almost enjoyed the feeling. He became conscious of the feeling and blushed; it seemed to get very hot under the bedclothes. He slipped out to the bathroom just to cool off.

The window was open a little and there was the faint hum of traffic; the rain had stopped so the swishing noise that comes from car tyres, was absent. He opened the window and peered out over the garden. A dog barked down the road somewhere; he could smell the dampness of recent rain; a smell he didn’t dislike. At least on a bike you interact with your environment; you get wet and can smell things – mostly car fumes, but occasionally something nice, like fresh mown grass.

He thought about the hair appointment, it wasn’t something he anticipated with pleasure, but he’d come through it. He’d got so used to being taken as a girl; it would be a real surprise if anyone challenged him now. The downside of course was how would he cope when he got home? It was still niggling away at him. He looked up at the sky and said, “Why me; why couldn’t I have been just an ordinary boy?” The sky said nothing in reply.

The next morning Jenny had to almost drag her younger child from bed. He’d spent half an hour looking out the bathroom window and it had taken him sometime to go back to sleep; consequently, he felt tired when it was time to rise.

Jenny pulled back the curtains and the sun shone through the window; causing Drew to pull the covers over his startled eyes. “Go away,” he exhorted his mother.

“No fear kiddo, if you don’t get up in the next few minutes you won’t have time for breakfast.”

“Oh shite,” he muttered under the duvet.

“That’s enough of that young lady, now, show a leg.”

Drew knew perfectly well the meaning of the old naval expression, which was to get a leg over the edge of the hammock, whereupon you’d fall out. However, he wasn’t going to be too cooperative, and slid a leg out from the quilt.

Jenny looked at him; or rather the lump under the bedclothes where he was with a leg protruding. She felt he’d brought retribution upon himself and grabbing hold of said leg, began to tickle his foot. Convulsions and laughter occurred under the bedclothes. Two minutes later he surrendered and tried to sue for peace. It was too late and Jenny imposed all the conditions for a ceasefire: get up and dressed, breakfast and be ready to leave in twenty-five minutes. He had to rush. “What should I wear?” he called to her.

“Something tidy, I don’t want you showing me up as Gaby, like you did as Drew.”
He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t his fault, it really wasn’t. It was simple bad luck, it could happen to anyone. He’d just had a rather long run of it, especially with regard to spare clothing.

He quickly washed and dressed, slipping on a pink top to go with the pink and blue floral skirt and sandals. He checked himself in the mirror, his bra strap showed slightly through the back of the top; a slight ridge, too bad. He did his eyes very quickly; a touch of mascara and fine line of blue-eyeliner, some lip gloss and down to breakfast.

Maddy and Jules were in the lounge watching breakfast television; he sat at the table with his mother who was finishing a cup of coffee. She pushed the cereal packet towards him. “If I strangled this; would it make me a cereal killer?” he joked.

“Maybe,” said Jenny, smiling at his wordplay; “I think there’s more chance of me strangling you if you keep playing me up.”

He huffed as he poured the cornflakes into the dish and added some milk. He tried to eat daintily to avoid any more black marks and he nearly protested, then thought better of it. He knew she hated being late for anything, whereas, he was less worried about punctuality unless that involved racing; then he liked to be earlier than anyone else at the finish line.

Jenny noticed his dainty consumption of the cereal. She looked at him, but it wasn’t a ‘him’, at all. ‘He’ was all girl. She looked at his flawless makeup and painted nails; his hair had been brushed – something Drew never remembered – although it was a bit flat from his recent slumber. He seemed so natural in girl mode; could he ever really have been a boy? She thought back over the past year or so; would any of this have happened if she hadn’t dressed him up for the tandem ride? She didn’t know and a pang of guilt crossed her mind. Then she reconciled it with the other things she noticed; his body was noticeably feminine, clothing wouldn’t do that; Maddy had got him in dresses and makeup more often than she, Jenny had. He caused himself extra grief by never having enough boy’s clothes, thus ending up in girl’s stuff. He didn’t protest very loudly when this happened. So, did he deliberately sabotage himself to end up in skirts, or was it an unconscious thing? It couldn’t be a random thing, it was far too frequent.

Before she could reach any conclusions, he’d finished his breakfast and put his dish and mug in the bowl of soapy water. He then rinsed them out and put them on the drainer. Jenny watched smiling with pleasure; Drew rarely did that.

A short time later, Jenny, Carol and the teens walked to the hair salon. Drew felt a sense of resignation as he followed his sister and Maddy into the alien environment. He sat and looked at a Cosmo, while he waited for his execution. “Hi, want to come with me?” said the attractive apprentice. Drew dumped his mag and followed her to the sinks. He put his little bag down by the side of the chair and she wrapped him in an overall.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you before, have I?” asked the apprentice.

“Nah, I’m on holiday,” said Drew.

“You look kinda familiar…. You sure, you’ve not been here before.”

“Nah, I think I’d remember;” said Drew.

“Is that okay; not too hot?” she asked as she began to wet his hair.

“ ‘kay;” mumbled Drew.

“I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere, where was it?” she continued to search her memory as she shampooed his hair. “Conditioner?”

“ ‘kay;” replied Drew.

“I’ve got it,” she exclaimed as she bid him sit up and wrapped his hair in a towel.

“Got what?” asked Drew, miles away or wishing he was.

“You’re the girl that was on the telly?” she was now quite excited, “an’ in the paper.
You’re that bike rider. I saw it on the news, that bloke tried to kill you on Weymouth seafront.” Her voice was now loud enough to attract the attention of the other stylists and some customers. Drew began to blush and feel rather warm. “It is you, innit?”
“Yeah okay, it’s me;” he paused wondering how he’d avoid talking about it. In a flash of genius he then added, “Can’t talk about it, it’s sub jubilee.”

Not quite understanding what he was on about, the apprentice walked him over to the stylist’s workstation and left him there. She was quite happy, she’d met someone famous and she could brag about it to her friends. At least this one didn’t act like a minor celeb, expecting to be waited on hand, foot and finger. She was actually quite ordinary by comparison to the last one they’d had; some overrated actress from the telly, who’d had a couple of lines in one of the soaps; Abigail something or other – snotty cow, she was. And this bike rider girl was twice as pretty as Abi wassaname; yeah; she’d make sure she told all her friends about this one.

“Hi, I’m Tamsin;” said the stylist, a young woman in her early twenties who was as thin as a rake and wore too much makeup for early morning. Dressed all in black, she reminded Drew of his sister who he could hear laughing and giggling behind him somewhere.

“Gaby,” he replied, nearly saying, ‘Drew’.

“How do you want it cut?”

Short back and sides, he wanted to say then he heard his mother call over to the stylist; “Just a trim, eh Gaby?”

“Yeah, ‘kay;” he agreed simply wanting to get out of there.

“Poppy was right then, you are the cycling champion that bloke tried to kill?”

“Yeah, it was me but my mum’s the champion.”

“What champion is she then?” asked the girl as she began to comb out his hair.

“World road race champion,” said Drew, happy to divert the conversation away from himself.

“What; bikes or cars?” asked the girl.

“Bicycles, like me;” replied Drew.

“So she’s like the best woman cyclist in the world?”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” said Drew beaming with pride.

“Cool, so are you like, any good?”

“Nah, not really;” said Drew not wanting to encourage the interrogation.

“Don’t believe her,” said a familiar voice, “she’s a national champion and hill climb champion.”

Maddy I am going to kill you. “Okay, I’ve won the odd race.”

“She’s one of the best junior riders in the country but she hates boasting about it.”

“Maaaad!” exclaimed Drew, in exasperation; “I only came in for a hair do, not a character assassination.”

“I’m not besmirching your character,” said Maddy indignantly.

“So why am I like, feeling so uncomfortable?”

“Dunno, maybe you got your knickers twisted.”

All the time this was going on, Tamsin was snipping off little bits of hair or combing it prior to the shearing. Drew was thus forced to sit quite still, blushing and very uncomfortable. Eventually, Maddy was called by the junior to wash her hair and the assault ended. It took Drew some minutes to regain his composure.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” said the stylist.

“It’s okay, can we like, talk about something else.”

“You staying long?” asked Tamsin.

“Dunno, we’ve been here longer than intended ‘cos of the incident at the race and I got ill afterwards. It’s like, up to the police an’ coroner bloke.”

“Ooh yeah, I s’pose it is; have they like, caught that bloke yet?”

“Not yet, I don’t like think, this lot could catch a cold.”

“I’m not surprised, my brother like, has this shed in his garden and he keeps…” Tamsin told Drew the saga of her brother’s lawnmower, which was stolen one night. She seemed to take great delight in running down the police because it hadn’t been found nor the miscreant responsible, apprehended. “… so I like agree with you, this lot is a waste of space.”

Thankfully, she had continued working and despite blow drying his hair, also continued her tale of woe. At the end, she asked him what he thought and showed him the back of his hair in a hand mirror. It was very nice, but had been shaped even more femininely than it had before when Sylvie had last cut it. It was one more nail in the coffin of his masculinity and inwardly he cringed.

Carol and Jenny’s hair took longer than the teens, although Jules was so rapt in telling her stylist about this dreamboat of a boy she had found ‘down here’, and that this ‘was the real thing’, that Jenny had to remind her if they didn’t leave soon, she would be late seeing her ‘dreamboat’.

“So what’s next?” asked Drew, although he suspected what the agenda might entail.'

“We go home, have a snack and get into our skins. Matt is calling by and we’ll all go together to the fair. They can get all the bikes on their van, so it should be easier.”

“So we’re not actually riding there then?” asked Drew, slightly disappointed.

“Gaby, there is no way I am going to spend twenty pounds on your hair do for it to get all messed up under a helmet.”

“I wouldn’t bloody ride there anyway!” exclaimed Jules.

“Language please, Juliette;” said Jenny loudly enough to intone some displeasure in her voice.

“You mean you couldn’t ride there, it’d all be over before you got there.” Drew leant away from his sister as he said this.

She glared at him, “I’m not as geriatric as you like to think, little weeeeeed,” she emphasised this in a way which she had seen in ‘Bill and Ben, the flowerpot men.’ Whilst it was a very old children’s programme, she had seen some repeats fairly recently. It appalled her it was so low tech and amateurish by comparison to the modern stuff, but it had entertained her.

The spat in the car didn’t last long and soon they were back at the cottage, where Dave had put the kettle on for teas. Jenny was pleased to have a cuppa, getting her hair done was thirsty work.

A snack lunch was quickly dealt with and the clearing up done by Carol and Dave, who weren’t changing their clothes. The others retired to their respective bedrooms and exchanged their day clothes for the racing skins. Drew still felt let down, he really did fancy a ride but until that loony was caught, it could be dangerous. He wondered what might happen at today’s fair; it was quite scary; at the same time he thought he would cope with whatever happened. If he had but known what Meadows had in mind, he wouldn’t have agreed to go and Jenny certainly wouldn’t have.

In a police station in Dorchester, Dimmock was still pleading for extra manpower. He wasn’t to be successful, which meant he had Ben and Andrea; plus another WPC called Mandy Wilcox, who was only just out of her probationary period. Dimmock had tried for some Specials (Special Constables – volunteers who have the same powers as full time officers), but none were available. He decided he would practice his pep-talk to his troops; Henry V, it wasn’t; Bill and Ben, it could have been. However, he was oblivious to the absurdity which frequently accompanied his actions. In his favour, was the fact that both his wife and his mother, thought he was perfect; an assessment not shared by many, especially those on the force.

While he spoke to his officers, the boys from the bike-shop were loading Drew’s bike on the van, and Dave was loading bodies in the car. They then set off in convoy to the fair, stopping at a lay-by a couple of hundred yards away, where they got the bikes down and rode together behind the van which hooted it’s horn and had its hazard lights flashing as it passed into the showground.

Drew felt a frisson of excitement to be on his bike at last, and not a little apprehension as the convoy went through the car park and into the showground proper.