Over the Line

by Steve Howell

  “I’ve got to pull-out,” she said. “We don’t know when I’ll be off the hook with Richards. And Bannister was right – it isn’t fair on the others with the qualifying standard to keep them waiting until the last minute. I’ve got enough to be ashamed of without acting like a prima donna. Li, I want to do the right thing.”

  I couldn’t contest her logic. With the plane leaving on Thursday, it was beginning to look bad that she was still embroiled in this mess and not able to say unequivocally that she would be at the airport – and I worried if she could mentally get herself back to the sharp focus needed to reach – never mind win – an Olympic final.

  “Meg, I’ll support you whatever you decide,” I said, not as a cop-out but because I really believed that if there was one thing she had to learn from all this it was not to rely entirely on the judgement of others – to trust herself.

  “I want to get back in control, to bow-out gracefully,” she said. “I’m only 21 – there’s the Worlds next year and at least two more Olympics before I’m over the hill.”

  She looked at me, but I think it was more to say, ‘I mean it’, than to seek my approval.

  I smiled.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll talk to Jackie and we’ll work out how to handle it.”

  I felt there was a finality about it now. We had been dancing around the issue for days. I’d had time to adjust to the idea of my own vicarious Olympic dream going down the pan. It didn’t at this point seem so earth-shattering – not in the great scheme of things.

  I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes until my train. Megan didn’t seem in any hurry. We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, and my mind drifted to Rio and what it might have been like. I imagined Megan on the start line, favourite to win, composed, toned, focused, ready to execute everything we’d been working on for two years.

  Megan was watching me, perhaps guessing my thoughts, possibly sharing them. She looked exhausted, grey around the eyes, her complexion drawn and mottled, but she was wearing that charming smile, her eyes sparkling.

  “It would have been great,” she said.

  “It would,” I said, squeezing her hand and pushing the door open with my shoulder. “But there’ll be other great days – you know where to find me.”

  ***

  The train crawled to London, struggling to get going after each stop like it had a Sunday hangover. It was nothing compared to mine, though. I’d hardly touched alcohol all week, but I felt like I needed to sleep off the worst binge of my life.

  My carriage was – mercifully – nearly empty; a smattering of people and no one showing a flicker of interest in me, oblivious to my face being in most of the newspapers lying around.

  Mimi phoned to check I’d made the train, and I tried – in a hushed and coded way – to tell her the revelations of the morning. Losing the signal every other sentence meant my version probably didn’t match the forensic clarity of Simmons and Richards, but she got the general idea of it judging by the intakes of breath as I peeled away the layers of duplicity and betrayal.

  “Wow. How’s Megan?” she asked.

  “Beating herself up mostly,” I whispered, conscious the carriage seemed to have gone very quiet. “And she’s decided not to go.”

  “Rio? Definitely? You’re kidding.”

  “That report this morning clinched it – the Bannister one. Tell Jackie we need a meeting.”

  ***

  The train drew painfully slowly into Paddington, metal screeching against metal, my head angled through the half-opened door window, one arm dangling on the outside, hand ready to open the door.

  I spotted Danny at the far end of the empty platform, running in my direction. I clocked the good knee lift and arm action before seeing Mimi, some distance behind, struggling to catch up, handicapped by a slim-fitting cotton dress and sandals she kept losing.

  I wrestled the door open and stepped onto the platform just as Danny reached me. We collided into the warmest hug I’d ever had from him. Over Danny’s shoulder, my eyes met Mimi’s as she arrived breathlessly, laughing at herself.

  “Dad – are you alright?” he gasped.

  “I’m fine,” I said, standing back. “Not a wound on my body.”

  “But it must have been scary,” he said, sounding like he wanted me to big-up the hero thing.

  “I’ll tell you everything when we get home,” I said, buying time, thinking I might need some advice from my personal PR consultant on the risks of exaggerated tales being spread across Sussex by my newfound fan.

  Keeping one arm round Danny’s shoulder, I leaned forward to kiss Mimi, intending only a peck on the cheek – conscious we hadn’t kissed with anyone else around before – but Mimi put a hand to my chin and directed my lips to hers and then nestled her head into my shoulder like she was as relieved to see me in one piece as Danny.

  “Is she your girlfriend?” Danny asked.

  We both laughed, though mine was more of an embarrassed chuckle. I was about to say, ‘That’s personal’, but Mimi stepped in without hesitation.

  “I suppose I am,” she said.

  ***

  Mimi drove us from Paddington to Hendon, while Danny – leaning forward from the back seat – quizzed me relentlessly on the siege. Watching Mimi for guidance, I gave him a version that didn’t add much to what had been in the media.

  “I’ve spoken to Jackie,” Mimi said, when Danny was having a rare pause for breath. “She’s meeting us at your place.”

  My flat isn’t homely, never mind stylish. My standards have slipped in the years of living alone, but we walked in to a welcoming smell of spicy odours drifting our way from the kitchen.

  “Eat now?” Mimi said. “It’s a Thai thing.”

  I nodded, too choked to speak. You wouldn’t think a curry could do that, but it was a long time since anyone had cooked a meal for me in my own home.

  So we ate, the three of us, plates on our laps in the living room, me and Danny on the settee, Mimi in an armchair, watching cricket on TV.

  Danny was silent now, except when he was talking about the cricket, displaying a knowledge of the Pakistan and England players that made me realise how much homework I had to do to get this father-thing back on track.

  When Jackie arrived, Danny had gathered our plates and was heading for the kitchen. She breezed past him into the living room, mobile pressed to one ear, finishing a call with a, ‘Catch you later’. After pecking the cheeks of Mimi and me, she registered Danny’s return to the living room with a look of slight surprise.

  “Who have we here?” she said.

  “This is Danny,” I said, but she still seemed confused. “My son,” I added.

  “Oh right, great – you’ve got a son. Yes, I knew that,” she said.

  “Danny,” I said. “You can stay while we talk but turn the volume down.”

  “Right, let’s do this,” Jackie said in brusque but sombre business mode, sitting down on the spare armchair and pulling a tablet out of her bag. She was facing Danny and me on the settee with Mimi on the other armchair to her right and the TV to her left silently showing Pakistan piling up the runs.

  “We’ve had a chat,” she continued, meaning with Mimi, “and I’ve spoken to Megan and Nigel. So I’ve got the picture: Will’s a blackmailer or worse; Meg isn’t quite off the hook with the police – but it looks like they know she’s been stupid not criminal; and Rio’s a lost cause. Meg’s dug her heels in after that nasty piece in the paper this morning. I’ve tried talking her into delaying an announcement for a few days, but she’s adamant she has to give them time to pick someone else and because she’s a wreck, mentally – her head’s all over the place. So somehow we’ve got to spin her pulling out as positively as we can to keep the sponsors on board. Is that about right?”

  Mimi and I looked at each other, nodding in unison.

  “So, Liam,” Jackie continued. “You’re the expert – how should we pitch it so the athletics fraternity doesn’t react badly a
nd the media doesn’t bury us?”

  Mimi let out a noise that sounded like a bird being throttled.

  “You’re kidding, right?” she said. “They’re going to bury us whatever we say. They’re bound to. The team’s losing one of its best medal hopes at the last minute because, let’s face it, she did a really bad thing. I mean, I sympathise with her, but – however you dress it up – you can’t escape the fact she abandoned a dead or dying friend.”

  “But no one knows that yet,” I said.

  “Enough people know it for there to be a leak,” Jackie said, and both of us looked at Mimi.

  “Oddly, the Bannister piece helps,” she said, absently, like she was running through it in her mind. “Meg can say she accepts that the uncertainty about her position is unfair on other athletes with the qualifying standard. She’s pulling out now, so they have time to pack their bags for the flight on Thursday.”

  “I like that – giving them time to pack – make sure you get that in,” Jackie said “And as for the Matt thing, can’t we stick to the line it’s a police matter and we can’t comment?”

  “Yes, it won’t stop people gossiping on social media,” Mimi said, “but the fact the police have charged Gary should help shut the media up. They’ll have to be very careful what they say about anything to do with the case.”

  Mimi fell silent again, and we waited, sensing there was something else on her mind.

  “I’ve spoken to the police press office this afternoon and they say the chief constable is making a statement at ten tomorrow morning. I’m not sure what it’s about exactly but they were hinting something big’s happening and there could be more arrests.”

  “That would be very helpful,” Jackie said, a smile forming now as the path through the minefield became clearer. “Then we can have our press conference while they’re all getting excited about that.”

  “I’ll work on a statement, and you can check it later,” Mimi said.

  “Just make sure it reminds everyone about Meg helping to free the hostages,” Jackie said. “The sponsors loved that – it averted a complete meltdown – and it’s bought us some time. I think we can keep most of them on board as long as there’s a sense Meg will be back. Mimi, you must mention the Worlds next year. Make sure Meg’s quote says something about that, and, Liam – you’ll be there tomorrow?”

  My mind had wandered to the cricket. Pakistan were all out for an outrageous total, and Danny was slumped against me as we watched their batsmen leave the field.

  “Sorry, where?” I said.

  “Newport, Liam. We’ll have to do it in Newport, don’t you think? I can’t see Megan coming down here.”

  This hadn’t occurred to me. I looked at Mimi. She looked at Danny.

  “He can’t,” Mimi said.

  Jackie raised her eyebrows.

  “Can’t? Excuse me, this is Megan withdrawing from the Olympics, and Liam’s her coach.”

  “I’m sorry Jackie, but I’ve got commitments,” I said.

  “Commitments?” Jackie said incredulously, as if nothing could be more important.

  “Yes. I’m going for a bike ride with Danny for a start.” Danny looked up at me, and I gave him a ‘keep-your-mouth-shut’ glare, not wanting him to give away the fact that we hadn’t made any such plans.

  “We don’t need Liam to be there anyway,” Mimi said. “If it’s just a statement and some photos, Liam wouldn’t be saying anything or answering any questions anyway. It’s better if he isn’t around. I can handle it.”

  Jackie’s seemed unconvinced, but she started typing onto her tablet as if she was already moving on.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s nail this down. I’ll do a round-robin email and copy Meg and Nigel. So, the police will do their press conference at ten. We’ll do ours later – in the afternoon at three o’clock. Will that give you enough time to get down there and set things up?”

  Mimi nodded.

  “Hold it at The Priory?”

  Mimi nodded again.

  “You’ll do the statement tonight. Nigel to legal, me to check, then to the police for vetting. I’ll warn UK Athletics.

  “And you’ll be on standby tomorrow if Mimi needs you?” Jackie said to me.

  Mimi lost a battle to stop herself giggling. Jackie frowned at her like a teacher disgruntled by a childish pupil.

  “Is there something I’m missing?” she said, turning to me.

  “She’s his girlfriend,” Danny said helpfully.

  26

  The Statements

  “Nineteen people have been arrested in raids across England and Wales by police targeting a steroid cartel allegedly responsible for supplying drugs with a street value of more than £100m…”

  The words entered a troubling dream I was having about Simmons interrogating Megan like she was a hard-core gangster. They swirled around in my semi-conscious paranoia for a few seconds until I realised I wasn’t in a dark cell at Maindee police station.

  It was the radio alarm, and I was now hearing that a reporter – I missed the name – ‘had the details’. And the next voice said:

  “Nineteen people were held after officers from the National Crime Squad and several police forces carried out early morning raids in South Wales, Bristol, Manchester, Nottingham and Leeds.

  “The sixteen men and three women are thought to be involved in a drugs cartel supplying steroids to young people in dozens of gyms and schools for bodybuilding.

  “A police spokesman said steroid use among male teenagers had reached epidemic levels, causing a number of deaths from infected needles and heart failure.

  “The police are refusing to comment on whether or not the raids are connected with two arrests made over the weekend following a siege at a gym in Newport, during which Olympic gold medal hope Megan Tomos helped negotiators free three hostages.

  “The chief constable of Gwent is holding a press conference later this morning. The BBC understands the Home Secretary will be making a statement on the police raids in the House of Commons this afternoon.”

  I was sitting up on the edge of the bed now. The alarm said it was 8.03. I switched the radio off and looked over my shoulder at the bed. Mimi wasn’t in it. I wasn’t sure what day it was, but the Watford Way roaring outside told me I was in London and it wasn’t Sunday. I opened the curtains and watched a few people below walking down to the tube station at Hendon Central. Some of them were familiar, which was not surprising as I’d lived in the flat for ten years and in Hendon for most of my adult life. It felt good to be back in my home territory, and I had an urge to let out a few ape-whoops to let the neighbours know I was around.

  But the phone rang.

  “Oh my God,” Mimi said, sounding like she’d swallowed helium. “Have you heard the news? I was expecting something big – I spoke to Nigel last night – but, oh my God – not this big… Not nineteen arrests, not… Liam?”

  Part of me was still somewhere in the depths of Maindee police station and another part was thinking about apes and what nice, peaceful vegetarians most of them are.

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard,” I said. “Just now, on the news.”

  “Are you okay?” Mimi said.

  “Slept really heavily, that’s all. Haven’t woken up properly yet.”

  “You sound rough.”

  “Yeah. I feel a bit groggy. What day is it by the way?”

  “Liam, get your act together. It’s Monday, and I’m on a train to – guess where? – Newport. Meg’s pulling out of the Olympics today, and you’re going out on your bike with Danny.”

  “Right, got it now,” I replied, stretching and letting out a half-yawn. “So what time did you leave?”

  “I didn’t stay Liam. I left you and Danny to it.”

  “Right, right – yes, I’d forgotten,” I said. “But you’re coming here tonight, right?”

  “Yes, Liam, with my toothbrush and clean knicks.” Mimi gave me a mischievous giggle. “I’ve got to go now,” she said. “Work to d
o.”

  ***

  I gave Danny an hour or so to lie in. It was, after all, the first Monday of the school holidays, and besides, I wanted to check all the drug raid stories online to see what they were saying about Megan.

  I booted-up my old PC on a makeshift desk in the corner of the living room and searched through all the news about the raids, the siege and Megan. They were all much the same as the radio report, except longer and with more of the background rehashed. There were innuendos about Megan’s links with Will and mentions of her ‘helping the police with their enquiries’, but most of the media were – like the Sunday papers – still portraying her as the heroine of the siege.

  I imagined Mimi on the train going through them too, adjusting Megan’s statement for anything new, as far as she could. She had emailed me a copy of the draft, with a note saying she’d ‘tickle’ it in the morning if there were ‘developments’.

  I couldn’t work out how the raids would affect the way people would see Megan. Would they think she was linked to this drugs cartel and had turned snitch? Or would they see her as innocently caught up in it all? The sooner the police made a statement saying Megan was no longer part of their enquiries the better. But even then – as Mimi had pointed out – she wouldn’t be able to admit her mistakes publicly and move on because she would be a witness at the trial of Gary and Will. That would be when the whole truth about the night Matt died and everything since would – or should – come out.

  I felt a sense of emptiness in the pit of my stomach. The reality of Meg actually pulling-out of the Olympics was kicking-in. For two years, my life had been divided between things I had to do now and things that could wait until after Rio. I hadn’t had a proper holiday – that was for ‘after Rio’. I hadn’t paid much attention to my day job – work on the new curriculum could wait until after Rio. And I’d spent even less time with Danny – if that was possible – because Meg had a Diamond League meeting or a vital training session.

  Even the satisfaction of playing a part in bringing Will and Gary and nineteen others like them to justice didn’t feel complete. These people were probably small fry, foot soldiers. Running a multi-million pound cartel was way beyond the capabilities of the likes of Will and Gary. So who was behind it? Who really raked in the profits? And how did the peddling of steroids tie-in with the culture of bodybuilding, with Action Man having ever-bigger dimensions and magazines full of males with ludicrously toned bodies? It all seemed oddly orchestrated, too convenient, and it left me fearing for Danny and the pressures he would face.