Crossing The Line Chapter 18 by Angharad Copyright© 2022 Angharad

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(title picture Andrea Piacquadio)

The older of the two men, trudged up the slope. Its surface was muddy and slippery and progress was slow. His load, wrapped up in his coat, barely moved, but there was regular breathing, she was still alive. The rain continued to beat down upon the two figures until some ten minutes later, they approached a small farm worker’s cottage. It was old and had missed out on modernisation. There was no gas, electricity or mains water, and there was certainly no phone.

The older man deposited his precious load on the old bed. Despite its age, the linen was clean, and the woman who pulled open the coat gasped as she saw the mud streaked blonde hair and face. She pushed the two men out of the room and with a bowl of warm water, heated by the kettle on the fire, she bathed the face of the unconscious girl. The girl responded to her touch and the warmth of the water. She stripped off her top clothes and laid them to one side, she was in two minds about how far to strip the ‘sleeping beauty’ and wash her. In the end she left it at her underwear, feeling a bit nervous about touching another female’s body.

She wrapped the girl in thick towels and placed a blanket over her. Then she took the ‘visitors’ dirty clothes and washed them by hand over a terracotta sink. She was puzzled by the funny red pad in the shorts the girl had worn and how close fitting everything was, she was tempted to denounce her as a hussy and the pad as some sort of feminine hygiene device. However, the red was the wrong colour for blood, certainly that sort of blood.

Her son, who had now changed out of his wet clothes and washed in a bowl before the fire, came out to look at the clothes. “Specialized, Body Geometry’” he read from the wet shirt. What you reckon she be?” he asked his mother.

She shook her head, “ ‘Ow iz I to know?” she replied, “clean ‘er shoes.”
“Them’s strange ‘uns, practical glued to ‘er feet, they bin’t,” he said, picking them up. He examined the red road shoes. “Specialized, cycling shoes, she be a cyclist.”

“Where be ‘er bi-cycle, then? Should be worth some money?” said the woman.

“That water bin up t’ top o bank, reckon coulda washed it miles away b’now.” He paused to think for a minute, “She gonna be right?”

“It be up to God now, we done all we cain.”

“Shouldn’t I go fer some ‘elp?”

“ ‘Ow yuz gonna get thar, fly?” she mocked him. “Yer dada told yuz the bridge wuz down, and the road be unner water.”

“Cain I see ‘er?” he asked his mother.

“Just fro the door, don’t yuz be disturbin’ ‘er.”

“She be very purty,” said the young man, as he watched the unconscious girl.

“You’m be a keepin’ yuz dirty ‘ands offa ‘er.”

“Course,” he replied, “Will ‘er kin pay us a reward?”

“’S not why uz done it,” interrupted the older man, “ ‘er be a damsel in distress. Uz be like gennelmen, rezcuzin ‘er.”

“Knightz in armer, like!” exclaimed the son, full of the comparison to a questing knight.

The men slept that night together, the woman sharing the room with Gaby. In the middle of the night, the woman awoke to coughing and rushing to fetch a bowl, she just managed to catch the vomit that came. She bathed the young woman’s brow and cheeks, they were very warm. She could be sick? She reduced the blankets on the girl, and left her to sleep.

Two or three hours later, she heard coughing again. She went to tend her charge. The eyes fluttered open. “I’m thirsty, could I have a drink please?” said a weak voice.

“Course ‘e cain,” she returned a few minutes later with a cup of boiled water. Drew gratefully accepted it and drained it down.

“Where am I?” asked a completely disoriented Drew.

“You wuz caught in the floods, my ‘usban and zon, rezcuzed yuz,” said the oldish woman smiling.

It took Drew a moment to decode what the broad Dorset dialect was telling him. “Thank you all very much.” He realised he was still in his bra and pants and hoped no one had been too prying. He was till very weak and sleepy, but he felt safe with the woman. She offered him more water and he accepted, hoping they had a bathroom if he needed it.” He slipped back into sleep.

When he awoke, he felt far from well but he was well enough to continue his journey, at least as far as a phone box. He could see a ribbon of sunshine surrounding the curtains, at least the rain had stopped.

He dozed some more and the old woman appeared with a cup of tea and some bread and butter. He accepted her hospitality and ate and drank the meal. Then she presented him with his clothes, washed and dried, he was grateful for her help and thanked her again. Even his shoes had dried out in front of the fire. He’d lost his little bag, so had no money to offer to his rescuers or to make the phone call. Not knowing how long he’d been asleep or ill, he decided that the police would be looking for him, so would call them and a nine, nine, nine call was free. He relaxed a little. Once he was dressed he was introduced to his family of rescuers. The older man was Thomas Portman, his son was also called Thomas, and the old lady was Alice. He told them his name was Gaby, short for Gabrielle, thanked them with hugs and handshakes until all three were blushing. Finally, he asked if someone could take him to a main road, preferably with a phone box.

“T’ain’t none b’ereboutz,” said the old man, “Bridge be washed ‘way, road be unner water.”

“I need to let my parent’s know I’m okay. They’ll be worried sick,” said Drew.

“I’ll take ‘e, ‘zept in they shoez, ‘e be zlippin’ ‘n zlidin’. I’ll ‘as t’carry ‘e.” said the younger Thomas, “or’ll be back in ztream ‘gin.”

It took Drew a moment to decipher the offer, he was going to be carried to the main road, if only he knew where his bike was, but that could wait. He asked to use the bathroom and they all laughed, eventually, he was shown to a hut in the garden, an earth closet and the toilet paper was cut up newspaper squares. It was a real eye opener for our high tech hero, but he was grateful to empty his bladder before he disgraced himself.

Walking back, he heard a roaring noise, it wasn’t traffic. It had to be water, “Just how much wet stuff fell yesterday?” he asked himself, skipping here and there to avoid the puddles which still lay on the path. “Loads,” he said, answering his own question. He didn’t like the idea of being carried, and eventually managed to borrow a pair of the younger man’s boots, which Drew put on over his cycle shoes. He could just about walk in them, and they all laughed at him. The old lady gave him a shawl to wrap around himself.

“I shall return these things,” he said, and I expect my parents will come to say thank you, too.”

“Goodbye Gabrielle,” said the old lady, “may God go with’e.”

Drew and the young man walked away from the roaring on slippery paths and across fields. Several times, Drew slipped and the young man caught him. Drew, smiled, best Gaby fashion and thanked him. As they walked, his hair swept over his face and he realised for the first time, the dreaded curlers were gone.

Drew wasn’t sure of the time, but he thought they had walked for about half an hour, he was getting very tired and wheezed and coughed, spitting out sputum of a greeny brown colour. He knew that wasn’t good, and he’d need a doctor pretty soon.

In fact, as he walked he began to feel things growing distant, including Thomas’ remarks. Then things went black as he felt the young man carry him, he hoped towards the road. Being nearer the road than the cottage, Thomas pushed on and flagged down the first car he saw, who nearly panicked when they saw his load.

“She be zick, zwallered dirty water, nearly drownded,” he explained to the young couple whose car he’d stopped.

“It’s the girl from the telly,” said the woman to her husband. She felt Drew’s forehead, “She’s burning up, better go straight to the hospital,” she spoke to Thomas, “Get in, we’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Yuz take ‘er, I got work t’do,” with that he slipped back across the road and disappeared into a wood.

As her husband drove frantically, the young woman dialled the emergency services on her mobile. “Police please. Hi this is Gemma Humphries, we’re driving along the Dorchester road near Wool. We’ve picked up a young woman in cycling gear, we think she might be the missing one. She looks very sick and her breathing is very wheezy, we’re heading straight for Dorchester hospital.”

“Affirmative, keep on to the hospital, please state your vehicle registration, make and colour,” said the operator. Gemma, gave the required information. Then much to her astonishment, a police motor cyclist came whooshing up behind them, blue lights flashing, and beckoned them to follow him. Mike her husband had never driven so fast in his life, taking great delight in flashing the speed camera at Grey’s bridge, as they went through a red light, then a series of them going up High East and West streets. Drew would have known where he was, except he was now unconscious and his temperature was climbing. Much more and he’d begin to fit and perhaps suffer brain or kidney damage.

He was rushed into Accident and Emergency and the doctor took one look at him and ordered intravenous antibiotics. Listening to his chest, he was astonished to see the breast forms, but that was the least of his worries, “Pneumonia” he shrugged his shoulders, it wasn’t the first cross dresser he’d seen, but until he saw the plastic of the breast forms which were obviously expensive ones, he was sure he was dealing with a young female. He’d seen the publicity over the weekend, this ‘girl’ was a champion cyclist and that escaped nutter, what was his name, Fields or Meadows or something similar had threatened to kill her. ‘She’d’ been missing for over a day, judging by the state of ‘her’ underwear, she’d been in some dirty water. ‘She’ coughed and he collected some sputum for the lab.

An hour later, the frantic parents arrived with a police officer, they sat by her bed, the mother crying and the father, red eyed had obviously shed a tear too. Dr Mitchum allowed them a reunion and then asked them to see him in the ICU office.

“How is she, Doctor?” asked Jenny.

“Very ill, how the antibiotics work will determine the outcome.”

“Oh my God!” whimpered Jenny and collapsed into a chair.

“Why do you dress your son as a girl?” asked the doctor.

“We don’t, she chooses to live like a girl,” said Dave, “I wasn’t too happy about it, but she seems happier that way.”

“Is she seeing anyone, a specialist in gender matters?”

“No, we’ve been trying to give her space to see if she grows out of it, but so far she hasn’t. We didn’t want to see someone official, because we felt it would perhaps influence her decision. It has to be hers, no one else’s.”

“I see. Well, we think she’s been half drowned, hence the chest infection. I’ve sent a sample of sputum up to the lab. She’s otherwise young and healthy?”

“She is a champion cyclist, as a boy she is the under sixteen British Champion, and hill climb champion, as a girl, she won a couple of local races over the last couple of weeks.”

“Didn’t I see the one on Weymouth sea front where the boy was killed by a lunatic in a four by four?”

“That was her, she survived the accident, the lad who took the main brunt died at the scene.”

“I don’t know how many lives she’s got, but this is going to use up at least one of them, assuming she makes it.” As the doctor said this, Jenny whimpered again. “I’m sorry Mrs Bond, but I have to tell you the truth.”

“Her gender state will remain confidential?” said Dave.

“Yes, of course. This is the twenty first century and we do have a code of practice here, which includes preferred calling name and gender.” The doctor’s bleep went, and he picked up the phone, “Excuse me…” He spoke into the handset, “Mitchum. Yeah, press? What? Look I’m a bloody doctor not a public relations expert, I can’t say anything without parental consent. Hold on,” he held the phone to his chest, “The local rag wants to know how she is, alright if I tell them?”

“Tell them what, exactly?”

“She is seriously ill and in ICU.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Dave as Jenny nodded. Dr MItchum, then said just that and put down the phone none too lightly.

“I hate those bastards,” he said, and walked out of the office, “Oh you can sit with your little girl,” he added as he left.

Jenny looked up at Dave, “She’s got to make it, please God she will.” He held out his arms and she fell into them. “I don’t know what we’ll do if anything happens to her.” She began to cry and Dave held her very tight.

Feeling choked with emotion he said in a faltering voice, “And there I was yesterday wondering how she would cope with changing over, suddenly, this has put it all into perspective, it doesn’t matter if she’s a boy or a girl. All that matters is that she’s fit and healthy. She can be a bloody Dalmation if she wants.”

“No, not that, she goes nuts about spots, a greyhound perhaps,” said Jenny in riposte to Dave’s silliness. Then they both began to giggle as the tension released. People do strange things when they are really up against it, and bouts of inappropriate laughing is not uncommon.

A nurse came along to see what all the noise was about, she understood the situation. “Hi, I’m Maureen, Gaby’s specialist nurse. I was just going to wash her, would you like to help?” Jenny nodded and went to the bedside, Dave slipped away to phone home.

“She is very ill with a severe chest infection, it could go either way. Can you rinse out her nightie, and a bring it in with a couple of pairs of her panties? About four, that would be great, ask for ICU.” After speaking with Carol, he talked to Jules. “She is very ill and could die.”

Jules screamed at the other end of the phone and then broke down in tears, “Don’t let that happen Daddy, we need her, we all love her. Tell her how much we all love her.”

“I will sweetheart, I will.”

“When can I see her?”

“Perhaps later. It’s very upsetting, she’s hooked up to all these machines and things with drips in here, there and everywhere. It might be better to wait.”

“But if she dies, then I won’t have had a chance to say goodbye, will I?”

“She’s a fighter, she won’t go without a fight. Your mum’s in there now giving her some advice about how to win this race.” It’s the biggest one yet, he thought to himself.

“Good ole Mum. Tell ‘em I love ‘em both.”

“I will sweetheart. I must go. I’ll see you later,” he switched off his phone and walked out to the small courtyard, where they have a quiet garden. He sat and as the emotions of the past two days ripped into him, he wept. He knew that Jenny and Gaby needed him, but he needed two minutes to cope with himself. To deal with some of the rawness that seemed to be on the edge of every one of his nerve endings. He felt physical pain over his whole body, like a burning sensation. If it helped Gaby to take some of her pain, he would bear it, and gladly. If it didn’t, he’d bear it anyway, it was what he did. Blowing his nose and wiping his eyes, he set off back to ICU and his role as the rock on which his wife and daughter would build their strategy for the future. He had expressed his emotions, for now. Until he had cause to celebrate or mourn he would express very little except hope, and try to carry the others.

He smiled at Jenny as he returned to the bedside. “Any change?” She shook her head. He walked around to the other side of the bed, and touching Gaby on the face, said, “Hello kiddo, I know you can hear me even if you can’t say it, so perhaps you can just squeeze my hand, to let me know.”

Far away in a land of darkness and pain, Drew felt himself being sucked away from his body. He fought to cling on to it. He felt so tired, but he was scared, scared if he slept he would never wake. He knew he was in a hospital, they had told him that. He couldn’t respond for some reason, probably the same reason that he couldn’t open his eyes or speak. It was really strange and very scary, like he was locked in his body, his body being like a box.

He kept drifting away from the voices, having the most horrible dreams. Sometimes he felt as if someone was roasting him over a fire, at other times they had left him out in the snow, and he felt so cold. He felt jabs in his arms, and he wondered who or what was tormenting him now? He felt them pull off his clothes and he felt embarrassed even though he couldn’t show it.

From out of the darkness he recognised his parent’s voices. He felt a glimmer of hope, if anyone could help him, they would. He heard his mother talk to him as she washed his body, telling him, “He’d soon be able to go without the breast forms.”

He wanted to say, “Are we going home?”

Then he felt his hopes a little dashed as she said, “For some reason girl, you seem to be growing your own.” Which explained why she had said what she did.

He felt as if the voices were travelling through water, they sounded weird, and echoing. He felt his father come and talk to him, asking him to squeeze his hand. He tried with all his might, but he couldn’t feel his hand let alone squeeze anything.

Then he felt like he was floating in water, not like the cold and dirty stuff which had caused all this, but a sort of warm and gentle flow. It was so soothing, and he allowed himself to drift, just for a moment, after all he could always come back, couldn’t he? The voices grew fainter as the floaty feeling got even better. He was so far away, when he heard the commotion, he nearly didn’t come back to see what it was all about.

Suddenly, there was pain again, real pain. Voices were loud and dissonant, he could hear his mother screaming and funny bleeping noises from machines, then someone said “ Charging, stand clear.” He wondered what all that was about, when this intense pain shot through his entire body and he felt himself twitch on the bed.

He opened his eyes and his mum and dad were stood there, both of them crying. What was all that about? They noticed his eyes were open, and his mother, whimpered and fell down, his dad caught her just in time.

The lights hurt his eyes, and he was still very hot and so tired, but if they were there, he could sleep safely. Drew closed his eyes, and drifted off into nicer dreams.

Dave helped Jenny to a chair, she was totally distraught. Gaby had opened her eyes, surely that had to be a good thing, except that moments before her heart had stopped, a build up of toxins they thought. They had given an injection to help after the defibrillation, which had restarted her heart. She had nearly died, she was as close as one could get without actually going over the abyss. She had opened her eyes, was that a good sign? The doctor had shrugged his shoulders. Could she still die? He shrugged his shoulders again.

Then they had an email from the lab, they had identified one of the bugs, a change of antibiotic and see what happens. Medicine it seems, is not as exact a science as they would have us believe. No wonder people still believe in magic and miracles, sometimes it seems to help….