Crossing The Line Chapter 26 by Angharad Copyright© 2022 Angharad

The County Showground is located to the east of Dorchester at Croker’s Frome, near Stinsford and off the back road to Sturminster Newton, which runs up through the Piddle Valley. In Victorian times, some of the Piddles became puddles, to avoid hurting their delicate sensibilities, but nowadays it’s Piddle all the way, except at Puddletown and Tolpuddle (of Martyr’s fame). So there are villages with names like Piddletrenhide and Piddlehinton, the latter even had an army camp at one time.

The showground is the host to the Dorchester Show, which is the county’s main agricultural show of the year, although there are several others during the summer at other venues, such as Shaftesbury & Gillingham in the north of the county.

The actual ground is bordered by the River Frome to its south and western sides, as the river meanders its way around en route to Poole harbour. The entrance to the ground is off the Sturminster road, called Slyer’s Lane, other access being limited by one or two streams which populate the area. The area is relatively low lying, the main road from Dorchester comes down a gradient for mile or two from its high point at the ‘Top O’ Town near County Hall and where the north-south and east-west roads cross. Dorset County Hospital, is less than half a mile west from this busy junction.

It is Wednesday evening, and Drew is still looking at his cycling magazines, although he is also daydreaming. In three days, he has to be well enough to accompany his family to the hospital fete. He is worried he might not be up to the task. During the evening he has been doing surreptitious exercises, whenever he thought the nurses weren’t looking, he was doing sit ups and squats. Every now and again he had to stop because he began to cough. Then he’d rest for a few minutes and start again.

After that he’d trot out to the toilet and back. The number of times he went, would have seemed to anyone watching as if he had a problem with his bladder or bowels, but he noticed that he was moving faster and longer before he coughed and was feeling less tired. He was doing his best to recover as quickly as he could, and he looked forward to the visit to the hospital gymnasium to see if he could improve things even more.

As the time ticked away, and the evening darkened into night, he found his eyelids drooping even though he was interested in reading about Armstrong’s latest win in Le Tour. He was fast asleep when Gemma, the nurse on night duty, tucked him in and removed his reading matter.

Dreams are funny things, the pioneers of psychodynamic therapy, Freud and Jung, believed they were access to the unconscious. While some therapists still believe this and work using dreams, behaviourists are more inclined to think they are the brains way of formulating its experiences into its own filing system. Parapsychologists will tell you, that a quarter of dreams are precognitive, which means they contain things which have yet to happen, although maybe not in a form which is easy to understand or recognise as useful. That night, the dreams that Drew had, he would have hoped were not omens of the future.

He had never visited the showground, nor read anything about it, other than it was at Croker’s Frome. It meant nothing to him. His dream started off well enough...He was walking from the car with his parents and Jules. Jenny was in cycling gear while he was wearing that yellow dress. They were heading towards Matt, who was standing holding the Bianchi, Jenny had borrowed before.

He felt himself on the bottom of the river under several feet of water and he knew he was going to drown. He felt the air bubbling out of his lungs as the bike hooked onto a tree root or some other obstruction and pinned him down. He struggled for a moment, but realised it was useless, he resigned himself to his fate, his mind almost smiling at the pun. Then he opened his eyes and thought he could see his father jumping into the river, Harry was there too splashing in to help him. He decided maybe he ought to struggle. He tried to scream, they were looking in the wrong place! He tried to scream again…

“It’s okay Gaby,” he heard a woman’s voice speaking to him, he was kicking and thrashing around, “It’s just a dream, you are safe.” He heard himself scream, as he opened his eyes, nurse Gemma was holding him and he began to cough and cry at the same time. “You’re okay,” she cooed as she held him and finally he calmed down enough to be able to speak.

“What was all that about?” Gemma asked him, “you were thrashing about like someone possessed.”

“I felt I was drowning.”

“How horrid,” she said comforting him, “but you’re quite safe here.” He nodded and she held him a bit longer. “Was it a flashback to what happened?” she enquired, aware that he had nearly drowned a week or two back.

“Probably,” he sniffed, holding on to her, his head leaning on her shoulder.

She held him for several minutes until his sobbing, sniffing and coughing seemed to stop. “I think you’ll be okay now, and I have other people to look after. Just try and rest, alright?” She smiled at him, but his eyes began to show a rising anxiety. “I’ll pop back in a bit, don’t worry, you are safe here and if necessary, I have a lifesaver’s medal from school!” She smiled as she said this and he smiled back and nodded. He lay back on the pillows, and watched her leave his room, he still felt anxious.

Despite his fear, exhaustion set in and he dozed off to sleep again. Once more the dreams began to weave around him taking him to a magical place where anything could happen.

Drew was skipping around the house, “When are we going to collect Harry, Daddy?” he asked of his father.

“What’s the matter?” asked the female voice.

Drew found himself jumping, completely disoriented, he wondered where he was. Moments ago he was at home with his father. He rubbed his face, it was wet with tears. “Where am I?” he asked of the woman by the side of the bed.

“Hey Gaby, it’s me Gemma. You’re in Dorset County, you’ve been dreaming again, no more flashbacks I hope,” said the cheery and reassuring voice.

“Geez!” exclaimed the wunderkind, “It was, like so real. We were going to meet Harry, like at the train station, and I couldn’t find my bag. I knew it was like, somewhere in the house, but I couldn’t like find it.”

“That happens to me about twice a week Gaby, or I lose the car keys, usually one of my kids has taken them to play with. My little boy Aaron, he takes them to pretend to start his pedal car.” She handed Drew a tissue, he gratefully accepted and wiped his face. “Who’s Harry?”

“What?” said Drew.

“Harry, you said you were going to the station to meet Harry. Who’s he?”

Drew looked a bit embarrassed and felt a blush arising in his big toe that soon engulfed his whole body. “Oh he’s just a friend.”

“What friend, as in boyfriend?” teased Gemma.

“A boy friend,” corrected Drew, “you know, like, a friend who happens to be a boy.”

“Yeah, I know,” grinned Gemma, showing a set of regular, white teeth, “he’s your boyfriend.”

“But he’s no…” protested Drew.

“Look, young lady, I’ve been a girl a bit longer than you, and I know when someone is trying to evade something. I’m right aren’t I?”

“I hate you!” Hissed Drew, sliding back into a reclining position on the bed, “Mrs Bloody Sherlock Holmes,” was added a moment later. By which time Gemma was beginning to giggle, and once Drew’s pretended indignation passed, he giggled too.

“Shush, we’ll wake the whole ward up,” hissed Gemma, “’n’ I’ll get into trouble.”

“Serve you right,” whispered Drew, sniggering back. It took him a while to slip back off to sleep and the second dream played on his mind for some little time. He wondered what was happening to him, were his dreams trying to tell him something, if so what? He was still working on this conundrum, when he slipped into the arms of Morpheus, who let him sleep untroubled until the morning.

Back at the cottage, Jenny had phoned Germany and arranged for them to send over a set of her racing skins, plus a smaller set for Gaby. She had persuaded Matt to borrow the Bianchi bike again, and to loan her a set of shoes. He’d wanted Gaby to wear her Specialized kit, particularly in view of the pending contract, and she would be using her own Specialized bike. Jenny had disagreed wanting Gaby’s outfit to match her own Apollinaris, in the end, they decided Gaby could choose which outfit she wore, although Matt thought Jenny would probably win by gentle pressure on Gaby.

“What d’you think darling?” said Jenny to Dave as he was reading the paper.

“About what?” he said tersely back to her.

“The outfit Gaby should wear,” answered Jenny.

Dave was enjoying the article he was trying to read, having little or no interest in what the women wore, so he rather testily responded, “I thought that was all decided.”

“So you don’t care what your wife and daughters wear in public,” chided Jenny.

He felt like using Rhet Butler’s comments from Gone with the Wind, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!” But deciding his life was difficult enough already, he opted for non-confrontation. “Of course I care, but you said yourself that Gaby would decide for herself what she wore, your kit or her own. Why not have Jules in your other kit and let Gabs, wear the Specialized one.”

Jules, hearing her name mentioned pricked up her ears and joined the conversation, “I’m not wearing bloody cycling skins.”

“Oh well that ends that idea,” said Dave, “although I suspect John would have enjoyed you wearing them. I always enjoy seeing your mother in hers.” This was a tack that caught her off balance, and she stopped and thought for a moment before she replied.“I’ll have to ask him,” she said hedging her bets, “I hope you’re not expecting me to ride a flippin’ bike, though, are you?”

“I don’t think we’ll actually have enough,” said Jenny, who was scheming. Dave could almost hear the wheels going round. Certainly she hadn’t considered putting Juliette in skins, and she still wasn’t sure of the concept. Jules wasn’t much of a cyclist, but then one had to consider photo opportunities, and pictures of Jenny and her two daughters all in cycling gear might be quite an interesting exercise. Despite her relative indolence, Jules had quite a nice figure and lycra shorts and top would show it off nicely. It was something to think about. Then there was the contract with Specialized to consider, nothing had proceeded with that except the company was still interested in sponsoring Gaby, what a start that could give her into the professional world, a major US cycle manufacturer wanting a British rider to front their campaign. It could be quite lucrative and enable Gaby to have a relatively comfortable time when she went to university. If only she, Jenny, had been so lucky.

The next morning, Jenny cycled into the hospital using Drew’s bike, where she dropped off some extra clothing for Drew to use in the gym. Then she went for a quick twenty mile ride and was pleasantly surprised by the bike with it’s new Campag gears and wheel set, Matt and Tim could certainly set up a bike.

She had avoided entering the ward not wanting to let Drew see her, as she was pushed for time and felt a real need to get in a training ride, before she lost her fitness altogether. Dave wasn’t very pleased, and only allowed her to go if she took her phone with her and kept in touch. She also decided to wear a tee shirt and shorts rather than draw attention to herself in any of the cycling clothes that were available to her, Meadows wouldn’t recognise the bike but he might the clothes which she and Gaby had worn.

She was just starting her first hill climb when Gaby was escorted off to the gym by a porter. “What you in for then, love?” he asked her.

“I’m a political prisoner,” said Drew with a dead pan face, “but I still won’t talk under torture.”

“What!” exclaimed an astonished porter.

“The namesh Bond. Jane Bond!” said Drew in his not very effective Sean Connery mimic. However, it was good enough for the porter to recognise and he was still chortling as they entered the physiotherapy department.

“Ah Miss Bond,” said a voice from behind the desk, “thanks Barney, she didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

“Bleedin’ ‘ell!” he exclaimed, “You was tellin’ the troof!” He went off muttering and shaking his head.

“What was all that about?” said Karen, nodding in the direction of the door and the rotund body exiting through it.

“Nothing,” said an innocence feigning Drew. But the old fashioned look he got in response from Karen made him qualify his original remark. “He asked me my name, I just said, “Bond, Jamesh Bond,” that was all.”

Karen, who was putting her hair into a pony tail, sniggered. “You’ll never guess what mine is?”

“I thought it was Karen.” Drew was looking puzzled, he hadn’t noticed her second name.

“Yes, but it’s Karen Blofeldt.” She mocked back at him.

“Oh shit!” said Drew and swallowed.

“Come on double o whatsit, let’s get the torture chamber set up. You will talk you know, in the end you will.” Then she laughed, and Drew suddenly decided he’d prefer to be back on the ward, except Karen had hold of his hand and was leading him towards goodness knows what.

He went through the double doors with a certain amount of trepidation, until he saw what he recognised as gymnasium equipment, including a bike. She listened to his chest, sounded it and then began her usual ritual of bashing him in various places to loosen the gunge in his lungs. He coughed and spat a little amount of white mucus into the receiver. She commented that the colour was good, no more infection. He felt cheered by that.

Then for the next hour she gently began to exercise him. Walking on the treadmill, then trotting and finally running. She did his blood pressure and listened to his chest again. It sounded clearer and Drew felt he was breathing better. He did some light weight lifts, then one or two machines and eventually she let him get on the bike.

“Now I know you know more about these things than I do, but you have been ill and you are not yet fully fit, by a long chalk. I want you to do five minutes of slow pedalling, then five of medium and then two of fast, okay?” Drew nodded and began pedalling. It felt so good to be pushing pedals around even if it wasn’t on a real bike.

After he finished the exercises, she checked him again. He coughed a bit, but apart from feeling tired, he felt good. She nodded and smiled at him, “I’m going to ask the doctors to check you later with a view to going home.”

“What, like today!” beamed Drew, punching the air.

“Yes, like today, double o seven.”