CHAPTER 18
Off at Victoria and up the platform to the ticket barrier, surrounded by girls in minimalist dresses and shoes that looked like egg slicers.

It was Friday night in the big city, but to be honest they all looked like fourteen-year-olds to me. We pushed the bikes out to just by the paper shop, and there were several people waiting including Kate and Ginny.

“Adam darling! Mwah!”

Etc, etc. John and Fee were there, and Eric, and others, and after a short ride up to Hyde Park Corner I made the introductions properly.

“Dennis here is just starting work with me, moved down from Up North where they talk even more oddly than you heathen Saxons. Dennis, Eric, who is bound for hell as he has succumbed to the sin of plucking his banjo string, John and Fee who are arsonists and poi-fiddlers, and of course Kate and Ginny, who may allow you some carpet space if you ask very, very nicely. Kate, he has the down-payment, I already know he has chocolate in his bag”

I could see Den weighing up the group’s dynamics, but we were soon called to order by the ride leader for the safety talk. Tail end Charlies for rescue, junction marshals for directions, a stop at the revamped airport coffee-shop for refreshments, the promise of a full English at the seafront on arrival. There were around 100 riders in total, many of whom I knew, and as we finally set off in a long trail of lights towards South London I began the old process of asking myself why I had tried to run away from all of that. There were real friends here.

I think that was a Rubicon for me, that Saturday morning in London. I found myself wanting to live, for the first time in years, not just accepting that I was alive. I was with people who loved me, and we were doing something special together, something that defined a large part of me. I am a police sergeant, surely about as conformist as anyone could be assumed by the wider world to be, and yet I was riding around sixty miles through the night with a mixture of lesbians, gay men, fire-jugglers, environmental activists and even bloody banjo players, simply because I wanted to.

It struck me, then. Despite all of my problems, life was not only better than non-life, it was actually, at that moment, GOOD. Ginny eased alongside me on Ladyboy.

“Do I see a smile on your face, Price?”

“FUCK OFF AND GET A FUCKING JOB YOU WANKERS!”

Taxi-drivers….I smiled back at her. “What does that look like?”

She grinned, and sped past to catch up with her lover as Dennis took her place.

“What’s the score with her then, pal?”

“Best friend I’ve got, butt”

“Strong girl. Take it she’s on the other bus, like”

“Absolutely, Den. Her other half’s the doctor on the soot bike. Ginny’s been staying with me for a while, but they’ve got their house and dungeon sorted now”

“Dungeon?”

“Don’t ask. Very, very long-running in-joke.”

“She absolutely on the other bus, then? You not tempted?”

“No, she’s definitely completely non-straight”

And as I looked at him I was realising which bus I was on, and it was terrifying. He was still talking, though.

“Pity, she’s just my type. Big, strong girls do it for me.”

“What about Ruth?”

“Well, I would, if it sort of came along, like, the opportunity, but….well, she’s too short, and too heavy in the chest, and she’s a constable in my new station, and…”

I understood that bit, the avoidance of relationships between different ranks, but there was more. Dennis was being a bit loud in his heterosexuality, and I suspected it might be aimed at me. I had, after all, stupidly taken his hand on the train.

We kept chatting, though, as we climbed after Purley to the top of Reigate Hill, ready for the mad plummet to the railway crossing, and the usual suspects on their tandem were already making their way to the front of the ride, their brains squishing at the roadside as they abandoned them ready for the descent. They had already done it at 55mph, and were now looking to break 60. Barking mad.

I was nowhere near as fast, and we reassembled by the ballerina before setting off again past the unfortunate junction of White Knobs and Cockshot Hill and easier ground towards Lonesome Lane and Horley, riding in the utter darkness of unlit country lanes towards the orange glow of the airport ahead. We were spared the usual vomiting party people for once, and soon we were stacking the bikes by the coffee shop in the glare of a 24 hour airport. Sally was there, to my surprise, and she gave me a hug as I introduced Den and a few of my friends she hadn’t met. And then, within three minutes of arrival, a man in a badly made corporate suit was walking over towards us. The group leader went over to him, and offered his hand, which was ignored.

“What business do you have in the airport?”

“Refreshments, of course”

“People are only allowed here if they have business in here”

“We have business, the business of coffee and cake. You also advertise locally for people to come here to do their shopping.”

“Not your sort”

“What sort is that?”

“Layabouts”

“Well, we are clearly not laying about as we are cycling, and this concourse is actually part of the National Cycle Network. As for business, shall we ask the manager of the café here whether he wants the business and money of over 100 people at two thirty in the morning?”

“I have called the police; here they come”

“Hiya Ruth!”

“Sarge! Sergeant Armstrong as well, isn’t it? What you up to?”

“Ginny and Kate’s house warming, and a ride down to the coast to get there. Been fun so far”

The security drone was looking puzzled. “You know these people?”

Ruth clicked, very quickly. “Yeah, they’re two of my sergeants down at the nick. What’s the problem?”

I added my two penn’orth. “And the rest of the layabouts…that one that was talking to you is an architect, that one’s a doctor, that one there is another doctor, want me to carry on? What exactly is the problem? Tell you what, you go away and have a chat with my constable here, and after she has explained how the law works you can come and have a chat with me if you need to. In the meantime, we will be eating and drinking and paying your concessionaire several hundred pounds, and then continuing on”

He did as I suggested, and eventually stalked off looking extremely unhappy. Ginny whispered into my ear “I do like a dominant girl, Annie. Pity you are on the wrong bus”

I stared at her, words failing me. She gave me a little squeeze.

“Absolutely smitten, aren’t you? Wind your neck in a bit, love, before you get hurt. You don’t know this guy, and he hasn’t met you yet, so be careful. Now, someone for you to meet”

She led me over to where Sally and Kate were sitting, Kate up to her cheeks in a very large chocolate muffin, and introduced me to another girl sat with them. She looked quite tall, red hair tied back, raw-boned and very fit in appearance. She was in what I still thought of as Customs uniform, though it now said UK Border Agency. Ginny did the honours.

“Adam, this is Steph, another sheepshagger from out your way. Steph, don’t bother, he doesn’t. Stick to English. Adam, Steph is the fiddler who sent you the music stuff”

She looked at me with a smile of recognition.

“You’re the flautist, then”

“Nope. I’m with James Galway on that, I’m a flutist. Never played a flaute in my life”

Kate was clear of her chocolate for an instant. “Adam was talking about simple tunes, all tumpty-tumpty piece of piss stuff”

Sally snorted, and Steph just smiled. “Oh, it has its moments. What it is, my family and I do an annual thing in connection with our friends in a local church. Not religious, just they have the space and the attitude, and, really, the generosity of spirit. It’s a dance thing, you know, barn dance stuff. Forget about cowboy hats and that, just traditional British stuff. We get a caller in, but we like to do as much of the actual sound ourselves as we can”

“What do you have?”

Den had joined us as we talked, and I had to control an urge to pat his knee in welcome. Ginny was absolutely right. Steph laid out the band.

“We usually run with a mix of me leading on the fiddle, with either an octave mandolin or bouzouki for rhythm, plus a squeezebox and a bodhran”

“A what?”

“One of those sideways Irish drums.”

“Ah, yes. Just a thought….Gin, could you give Eric a shout? Eric is one of the spawn of Satan”

Steph’s eyes lit up. “Da lang dang dang dan dang dan dang?”

“Oh yes”

I realised I liked this girl, we had hit the same wavelength almost without words.

“Eric, Steph here is a musician. Steph, Eric here plays the banjo”

“Bastard”

“Tosser. Eric, this young lady wishes to proposition you”

“Ooh, and before breakfast too!”

Steph was chuckling. “Duw, and I thought my family were bad! Eric, would you be up to playing in a dance band? We have an annual charity thing, where we have a barn dance and a dinner, that sort of thing. I can let you have a set of tunes if you want.”

“No need. Just give me key and time signature”

I chipped in. “Or don’t, sounds just the same”

“Fuck off, Price. Steph, is it? Steph, what’s the charity thing about?”

“Started after the death of a transsexual girl…Adam, you OK?”

It all pulled together, like a net around me. I took a few breaths, and felt Den’s hand on my shoulder. I sighed.

“Sorry, Steph, I was a bit involved in that one.”

“Ah…Eric, we have an outreach centre for young people, anyone really, who has what you could call issues, and this is a fundraiser as well as a celebration. If you would rather not be associated with it, I understand”

“Don’t be daft. Want me to bring my ukulele as well?”

Six voices in unison said “NO!”