Chapter 1

Clive

What a shit day.

Clive watched the scenery slide past from the dubious comfort of his underground tube seat. He wondered why they even bothered putting windows in tube trains. Eighty percent of his journey was underground, where the only view out of the window was the reflection in the glass of his own face and those of any other unfortunates in the carriage. They would have been better replacing the windows with TV screens. Then you could at least watch the news or something instead.

As it was, all he could see were abandoned old carriages, freight wagons and other assorted industrial detritus dotted over the sidings. The sidings themselves slipped past, replaced with the heavily graffiti’d rear walls of industrial units. Except they didn’t call it graffiti now, did they? It was ‘tags’. Whatever, it was still a pile of multi coloured spray painted shite. His daughter when she was five had made better with her crayons.

The industrial units and their acrylic vomited exteriors went the way of the sidings. The back end of houses took their place. The gardens an alternating hodgepodge of meticulously maintained green spaces, full on jungles and household scrapyards.

Clive took a firm grasp of the handle of his briefcase. Next stop was his. The tube slowed in a cacophony of creaks, groans and squeals. Not unlike his body first thing in the morning. Unfortunately. The tube slowed, jerked, sped up a little bit, slowed back down. The station appeared, empty at this time of the day. With a final little vicious jerk for the unwary, the tube halted, the doors failing to open. There were mutters of impatience from those closest. Their release from transitory hell so tantalisingly close.

The doors finally opened and humanity burst forth, like a Viking ship disgorging warriors to battle. Though with a lot less beaded hair and beard. Same amount of axes to grind though. Clive was carried through the door into air that was only marginally more tolerable than that left behind in the tube.

All the gates in the station were open; no station manager in their right mind dared impede the flow of those with ‘home’ in their sights. The mass of grouchy and irritable humanity flowed across the road, completely ignoring the pedestrian crossing, using sheer numbers to bully the motorised mechanical traffic to a standstill. Even the cyclists. No amount of Go-Pro’s mounted on your cycling helmet would protect you from the much less technical punch to the face.

As quick as they had appeared, the bipedal stampede was past and cars, cyclists and other road users moved back into motion. The herd, safely across the road, burst into all directions as though it had spotted a predator. Clive, safe in his little bubble of irate humanity, entered the multi-storey carpark. His little group fracturing further as they peeled off to their steel steeds for the final push.

He dumped his briefcase on the passenger seat and started the engine, cranking the air con up to max. Just one more day. One more day and it would be the weekend. Even better, it was going to be a weekend home, alone. His wife and their tempestuous 14 year old daughter, Emily, were off to Glasgow.

His wife ran a small a small gymnastics club, nothing fancy, and they were taking part in a yearly national competition in Glasgow. They had been practicing hard for months, determined to raise the stature of the club. Nothing lofty, top 50 club place was the aim. They were currently ninety something or other in England, Clive had never really paid much attention, other than to make appreciative noises in all the, hopefully, right places. Top fifty was the aim, but his wife would be really happy to get up to the 70’s. Clive, as a general rule, left them all to it. He couldn’t think of anything worse than being mixed up with the doings of a bunch of pre-teen and teen girls. He had enough problems with his underlings at work. Whoever says middle management is fun, was an idiot in Clive’s mind. Non-stop pressure coming down from the above management, and non-stop idiocy coming up from below. Well, that wasn’t fair. Upper management had their fair share of idiocy as well and weren’t adverse to sharing it.

One more day.

One more day and peace, beer, and a several days of soap free TV. There was a F1 Grand-Prix on Sunday, some good footy matches on Saturday and a boxing match Saturday night. Takeaways, beer, no women. As close to heaven as you could get without actually having to go through all the palaver, hassle and general awkwardness of dying.

It all started to go horribly wrong when he entered the house to the remarkably unwelcome sound of crying. So, number one daughter was injured? Not too much of a problem, she mostly spent all her non-practising time upstairs in her room anyway. So, factor in some time to make some soothing noises and listen to wails of disappointment to a year of wasted training. This was doable. She might even still go, and just sit on the side-lines. All was not yet lost.

He entered the kitchen to the sight of wife and daughter both crying. No visible injuries. This wasn’t looking too great. He looked from wife to daughter, back to wife. Clive dumped his briefcase on the counter, plastered on a sympathetic expression and hugged his wife, who sobbed loudly and remarkably painfully into his ear.

“What’s up my love?” He gently asked.

“It’s my mum; she’s had a stroke.”

“Oh. Is she... ?”

“No, they got to her in time. But the outlook is ... not good. I can’t leave her.”

Well, that explained the crying then. Emily would either go with her mum to Wales, or go with the other girls to Glasgow. The weekend was still on.

He tried to comfort his wife. “I’m sure your mum will pull through, she’s a fighter, like you, and they can do amazing things these days in hospital.”

“You don’t understand!” She bawled into his ear. Emily started crying loudly as well. Yes, he was certainly missing something somewhere. “I can’t go!”

“There will be next year. Your mum needs you and I’m sure the girls will be fine in Glasgow.”

“That’s just it!”

“Err, what is?”

“If I don’t go to Glasgow, there is no-one to drive the mini-bus, the girls will miss out, and all their training will be for nought. It will devastate them! But if I go to Glasgow and mum dies without me there...”

“Ah.” Clive could see the issue now. “Can’t Florence drive the girls?” Florence was another mum and a major helper in the club.

“She doesn’t have D1 on her licence...” More crying.

“Surely some other mother has mini-bus on their licence?”

“No, I’ve been phoning around all afternoon...”

“What about if you took cars?”

She shook her head. “I asked, not enough parents with cars are free, and there are accommodation issues at the other end.”

“Okay, what about hiring a bus, or a driver?”

“Tried that as well. Most of the local firms are already booked out and the ones that are available, we can’t afford the cost.”

“What about just a driver?”

“None available with DBS and our insurance won’t cover us if the driver hasn’t a valid DBS...”

Although he normally had nothing to do with the club, Clive still had to go through the Disclosure and Barring Service checks- which were supposed to stop unsuitable people working with children and vulnerable adults- because his wife ran the club.

His wife slipped from his grasp and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She sighed. “I can’t leave it till tomorrow. I’ll have to make the call and inform the parents tonight, so they can adjust their plans for the weekend. I can’t see how the club can realistically attend now...”

Clive could think of one more, really unpleasant, option, and by the look in her eye, his wife had thought of it as well, but was at least giving him the chance to voice it. A silence descended upon the kitchen, Clive glanced towards their daughter. Emily was looking at him expectantly. She had obviously thought of it as well.

His weekend plans crumbled to dust.

“I can drive...” He reluctantly started as Emily squealed and leapt into his arms.

“Are you sure? Are you okay with that?” His wife asked. As rhetorical questions go, it was a pretty shitty one. His wife was more than aware that he would rather poke his eyes out with something long, wooden and dripping in effluent.

It wasn’t as if he realistically had a choice. He was already a named driver on the clubs minibus insurance, all the parents knew him, as did the girls. It was the sensible choice. It was the adult thing to do. Adulting sucked.

His wife joined the hug. “Thanks love. It will mean a lot to the girls. It means a lot to me...”

“I’ll phone my boss now, let him know that I won’t be available Monday, and that I’ll only be in for Friday morning.”

Clive disentangled himself from his wife and daughter, pulled out his mobile and rang his boss.

Word had got round before Clive even stepped through the office doors. The female staffers giving him sympathetic looks, the males laughing uproariously. He managed to clear his desk in the few hours he had available, the issues he didn’t have time to deal with, he palmed off to the other managers to sort out. He set his e-mail to ‘out of office’. Most of the e-mails that morning had been from his contacts all sending him basically the same message of “Don’t forget to take your passport!” They probably thought they were being funny. Admittedly, the first one had been mildly amusing, but it had quickly tapered off after that.

He stuffed some reports into his bag and left at eleven am. At least the tube was fairly quiet at that time. He stopped off at the house for a bite to eat and to pick up some essentials. His wife had already packed a bag for him, which she had left at the door, and he added a laptop to his luggage. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the forthcoming days. His mind drifting back to the previous night.

His wife had been very thankful, and had shown it last night. Their sex life had been tailing off somewhat over the previous few months, the result of his work and her commitment to the coming tournament. But she had made time for him last night. His wife had never liked giving blowjobs; she hated the taste and the feel of cock in her mouth. He had never pushed her to pleasure him that way, and as a result, could count on one hand the amount of times in their seventeen years of marriage that she had done so. Last night had joined that rare list of occasions. It hadn’t been that great, if he was being honest, but it was the thought that counts.

He took one last look around, assuring himself he had everything and closed and locked the door.

Clive pulled up into the Community Centre carpark. The small carpark was full of cars as parents dropped their progeny off, wishing them luck. Bags were stacked everywhere. Clive shook his head. They were only going away for three nights, not three weeks. He parked up in the last available space and lifted out his luggage, not bothering to lock the car behind him.

There was a lot of excited screaming going on. Way too much. Clive was already regretting the decision he had no choice but to make. Being trapped in a seventeen seater minibus with that amount of rampaging oestrogen was not going to be a pleasant experience by any stretch of the imagination.

“Cheers Clive, for stepping in at the last moment.”

Clive turned round, “No problem Graham. I know how much this means to the girls, they have been training hard for this.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Irene’s mother. What a terrible position to be in.”

Clive shrugged. “It is what it is...”

“Aye. Was panicking a little myself when we heard. We had a nice weekend away booked. A bit of ‘quality time’ with the other half, if you know what I mean...” Graham furnished his comment with a completely unnecessary wink.

You fucking twat. “Well, enjoy yourself Graham.” There was another piercing scream of excitement and Clive winced. “I just wish that I had thought to bring hearing protection.”

“Aye, rather you than me. Safe journey. I hope you’re passports in date...”

“Haha. Thanks Graham.” Clive continued towards the Ford Transit mini-bus. One of the parents ran a garage, and had provided the gymnastics club with the mini-bus. It wasn’t new by any means, second or third hand at least, but it was well maintained. The father had no desire to be responsible for any mechanical failure that might result in harm to his daughter or anyone else’s daughter for that matter. The garage in question had its name predominantly displayed down the side, along with some other local businesses who had ‘donated’ money to the club, to help pay for the fuel and insurance costs through the year.

A reporter and photographer from the local paper were there as well. Taking pictures of the girls and their parents. The father who had donated the mini-bus was unsubtly making sure that most of the pictures were taken against the bus with his garage’s name prominent in the shots, arranging the girls so they ‘just happened’ to block out the other sponsors names.

“Thanks love, for this.” His wife kissed him, to the cat-calls of some of the girls and mock throwing up sounds from their daughter.

He handed her the car keys. “It’s not a problem.”

“Florence has all the competition details, she knows what to do. I’ve had a word with all the girls, individually and collectively, they shouldn’t be a problem. If they are, which I seriously doubt they will be, let Florence deal with it.”

“I fully intend to, chauffer only I am.”

“There’s a tripod and digital camera in the back. Since I can’t be there, I need you to film the girls’ performance so I can critique it later and work on improving their performance.”

“Oh. I had planned on propping up the hotel bar ... It’s not really my scene this whole gymnastic thing. Can’t Florence do that?”

“And who will be looking after the girls? Do you want to look after them?”

“Ummm, okay, fair point. Florence can babysit.” He hastily agreed.

“We’re not babies, Mr Sanders!”

Clive turned round to look at the girls watching him. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He told them before he turned back to his wife “Is it, you know, okay for me to film the girls?”

“Why wouldn’t it be love?” She looked at him perplexed.

“You know, all those young girls in leotards, I umm, errr, you know what, just forget it.”

“Come on girls; get your stuff packed away in the minibus. I want you away before the evening traffic builds up at Birmingham. Remember, early to bed, I want you at your best Saturday and Sunday.”

“Yes Mrs Sanders...” The girls drawled in reply like the teenagers they were.

Clive looked at the baggage being stuffed inside. “It is just three nights isn’t it?”

“You know it is, why?”

“That’s a lot of stuff. Why are there sleeping bags and mats?”

Irene opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the reporter and the photographer, “Irene, Clive can we have picture of the two of you please?”

“Of course!” Irene replied before Clive even had a chance to open his mouth.

“That’s terrible timing, what with your mother and all...” The female reporter said.

“It’s not great, I agree, but the girls have trained hard and are at the best they have ever been. I know they will do themselves and the club proud...”

Clive tried to smile in the least creepy fashion he could manage as the photographer clicked away. He had a horrible suspicion that he had failed. He broke away as quickly as he could before the reporter started asking him any questions.

He stashed his meagre bag in the back, securing his laptop bag under one of the rear seats so that it wasn’t crushed. Slipping behind the wheel, the keys were already in the ignition, so he turned the key to the pre-start position, warming the glow plugs, happy to see that the tank was full.

His wife rounded up the girls “Come on, in you get girls.”

Emily opened the passenger door and climbed into the front, buckling herself into the middle seat. She looked at him, took his hand. “Thanks dad.” He smiled back down at her.

The last of the girls climbed in the side door and Irene slid it shut as Florence climbed into the front passenger side. Florence looked between the two front passenger headrests and counted off the girls in the back.

“Good to go?” Clive asked.

Florence nodded her head “Good to go.”

Clive dipped the clutch, started the engine and changed into first gear, marvelling as he often did at how alien it felt to have a gear lever on the dash. The watching friends and family all cheered loudly and waved as they moved off, the photographer taking more shots of the minibus and it’s madly waving occupants.

Florence said nothing as she flicked through a hefty folder in her lap. Clive left her alone, as he hated it himself when people spoke to him when he was sorting stuff out in his head. The Transits two litre engine was surprisingly lively considering the weight it was hauling, though it did force him to be just as equally lively with the lower gear changes as they made their way through town. It was a bit of a relief to finally slip onto the motorway, Clive nestling the Transit minibus into the slipstream of a passing Stagecoach bus, the turbulence allowing him to ease off on the accelerator and yet keep the same speed.

Closing her thick tome, Florence turned so she could look behind at the still boisterous girls.

“Here come the rules...” Someone in the back muttered, loudly.

“Yes, here comes the rules,” Florence agreed. “Tracy, Laura, Bev, you are the oldest and over eighteen. With age comes responsibility, and normally wisdom, but we’ll make allowances for you Bev,”

“Ha-ha, Flo...” Bev drawled semi-good naturedly.

“As you all know, Irene’s mother suffered a heart attack so she is unable to join us,” Clive looked down at his daughter, who looked about to burst into tears, so he dropped his left hand onto her lap, where she took hold of it with both of hers and smiled sadly back. “Mr Sanders has kindly agreed to drive us in her stead, so we can all take part in the competition that we have all been training hard for over the last couple of months. I don’t want any of you to give him any grief. The loss of Irene makes us a little shorthanded, so I expect you three to step up and help me look after the younger members of the squad. And that is what we are, a squad. Look out for each other, help each other. Maya, Olivia, Kinsley, Aria, Bella, I want you to treat Tracy, Laura and Bev as your older sisters and don’t mess them about.”

“Laura is my older sister, Flo...” Pointed out a bemused Olivia.

“Unfortunately...” Muttered Laura.

“Settle down. You know what I mean Olivia. This competition will be as good, or as bad as we make it. I want it to be good, let’s make Irene and our families proud, okay?” There were mutterings and grumblings of assent. “Do you have and questions or problems?”

“Flo?”

“Yes Clara.”

“How, what do we address Mr Sanders?”

Florence looked towards Clive.

Emily turned to look back at Clara. “Well, I’m using ‘Dad’.”

Clive shrugged at Florence. “Clive is fine. ‘Mr Sanders’ is a little bit too formal, don’t you think?”

“I’ll think I’ll join Emily and call him ‘Dad’” Bev joked, the other girls laughed.

Florence met Clive’s gaze, shook her head and rolled her eyes.

They didn’t make as good a time as Clive was hoping. They managed to get past Birmingham before evening rush hour, but bad accidents on the M60 and A74 along with roadworks meant that it was past ten o’ clock that night when they finally pulled up at their hotel. Clive was shattered. The girls were excited and full of energy, having spent most of the journey asleep- though they had all woke up in time to cheer loudly as they passed from England into Scotland. Even Florence had nodded off for a couple of hours in the front.

They hadn’t been the only ones caught up in the delays. Several other minibuses had just, or were in the process of pulling into the carpark. Clive pulled up in front of the hotel’s front doors to let everyone pile out with their luggage, saving them having to lug it across the carpark. The side door was slid shut and someone banged on the outside twice. Releasing the handbrake, Clive pulled off as another minibus pulled into his just vacated spot. Finding a place to park turned out to be a chore in itself. The car-park was large, but so were minibuses, taking up two spaces lengthways each, and there were a lot of mini-buses. He found a spot and parked up, turning off the ignition and stretching his back. He opened his door and walked round to the side door and climbed in to retrieve the only luggage left; his bag, laptop, tripod and video camera. The tripod was a bit too much and he decided just to leave it in the minibus. Clive climbed back out, slid the door shut and pressed the button on the fob to lock the doors. He made his way to the hotel, the air a lot cooler here at night than it was down south.

A minibus was creeping along the tarmac, the female driver peering around for a spot. Clive flagged her down and directed the grateful woman to his minibus where there were still some spaces.

The doors to the hotel were thronged with girls, all excitedly gossiping away. Clive felt the start of a head-ache and just wanted to go to bed. There were a lot of sleeping bags being carried by the girls, but Clive’s brain was too exhausted to chase the thought further.

Male security stopped him at the door, as girls and women walked past.

“Are you a guest?”

“Yes, why?” Clive answered a little perplexed.

“You need to get a pass.”

“A pass?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, where do I get a pass?”

“Just in the doors, on your left.” The guard stepped aside but watched Clive intently as he entered the hotel proper, the security guard moving so that he could keep Clive in sight. Sure enough, just inside the doors was a table, manned by a male hotel employee and another security guard. Clive approached.

“Umm, I was told to get a pass?”

“Are you here for the gymnastics competition?”

“Yes.”

“Booking reference?”

“Errr ... No idea. Hang on; I need to phone a friend.” Clive pulled his phone out and phoned Florence. “Florence? I’m at the main door; I need to get a pass or something? I need the booking number? Okay.” He put his phone away, “She’s coming over.” Florence was over in seconds, she couldn’t have been far, but it was hard to see anyone as the foyer was heaving with people. Mostly women and girls.

Florence opened up her folder and conferred with the staff member; sheets of paper were handed over and handed back. The Staff member seemed satisfied and turned back to Clive. “Please step on the red dot on the floor to your right and look at the plant pot on the shelf, aannddd, that’s fine.” Something buzzed, hummed and clattered away on the desk as the staff member handed over a lanyard. “For security, the Hotel requests that you wear your ID at all times inside the building and that should you lose it, that you inform a staff member immediately.”

“Umm yeah, sure.” Clive slipped the lanyard over his head, the empty ID holder resting against his chest. The machine on the desk finished growling and the staff member took something from the tray, looked at it, looked back at Clive and handed it over. Clive looked down at the ID badge. His rather tired looking visage stared back. It wasn’t a very flattering picture. The hotels logo was in the top left corner, a hologram in the top right. His name and his wife’s gymnastic club name were neatly printed under the picture. Clive slipped the ID into its holder. “Ummm, why do I need ID?”

“The hotel takes the security and wellbeing of its guests seriously, sir.”

Clive looked around the foyer “Umm, I get that but no one else has ID...”

“The Hotel takes the security and wellbeing of its vulnerable young female guests seriously, Mr Sanders.”

“But...” The penny dropped. “Ahh, yes, I get you now. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a dick. It was a long drive, I’m a bit knackered.”

The staff member smiled and nodded. “Enjoy your stay Mr Sanders.”

Clive picked his luggage back up and went looking for his party. He found them at the reception desk. Florence was signing several sheets of paper and looking a bit harassed as the younger girls cavorted around her. Tracy and Laura had spotted a couple of girls they knew and were chatting animatedly and exchanging hugs.

Emily turned his new ID so she could see it. “That’s a terrible picture Dad. You could have at least have smiled.”

Bev looked over, from where she was busy texting on her phone and peered at the picture. “She’s got a point, dad.”

The rest of the girls wanted a look and started to laugh. He opened his mouth, but he was just too tired. He shut it again as he saw the mouth of the check-in girl curl up at the corners.

“Right. You are in rooms 256, 257 and 258.” The check in girl laid down three plastic cards. “As requested, three cards for 257,” Florence picked the three cards up and handed them over to Bev. “Two cards for 258 one of which is a master card for all three rooms,” The check in girl marked the corner of the three room master-card with a black permanent pen. Florence took those. “One card for 256,” She placed it down on the counter, “And one more master card for all three rooms.” She marked the corner of that one as well. Florence picked up those two cards and handed them to Clive. He took them. “There is a ten pound charge for lost cards. Enjoy your stay and good luck in the competition!”

The girls all excitedly thanked her in return as they moved away from the check in desk.

Florence looked up at the ceiling where little brass signs were mounted, and marched off purposefully. Clive taking up the rear, his exhausted brain struggling to get his limbs working in the right order. Florence had headed off down a corridor, and then waited by two elevators. They both arrived the same time Clive did and they all piled into them. Someone punched in one of the floors and the doors slid shut and the elevator rose, the girls giggling at the momentary increase in their gravity. Clive found his brain strangely stuck on the sign on the wall stating that the maximum passengers in the lift should not exceed eight.

The lift came to a halt and they all pilled out in a giggling mass and Florence, woman on a mission, was off again. She stopped by a door and pressed her card to the plate by the handle. The door ‘clicked’ and she turned the handle and pushed it open, ushering in the youngest members of the group. Tracy, Laura and Bev had already entered their room.

“Earth to dad!” Emily plucked a card from his hand, slapped it against the lock and opened their door, racing inside along with Jade, Clara, Kaylee and Alice. Emily tossed the card onto the low dresser that held a mirror and a kettle along with a wicker basket with an assortment of instant tea’s and coffee packets.

Clive entered as the door whispered shut behind him. He looked at the large double bed. The reason for some of the girls carrying the matts and sleeping bags suddenly became apparent. Emily didn’t have a sleeping bag. Emily caught his glance. “I normally share the bed with mum.” She stated matter-of-factly.

“Errr...” Clive watched helplessly as the girls jostled for what they deemed to be the most desirable sleeping positions on the floor.

“Clara normally ends up in the bed as well.”

“I’m not so sure that would be such a good idea this time. In fact I’m not so sure this is even a good idea full stop.” He dumped his stuff down in the one spot that wasn’t taken up by either an unrolled sleeping bag or one of the girls many bags. “I’m just going for some, err fresh air.” The girls paid him no heed as he slipped from the room. He pulled his phone out just as another group of competitors exited the lifts, squealing and giggling with excitement. He put his phone away and nipped into the lift before the doors shut.

The main foyer was still busy and very noisy, so he walked outside. It was definitely colder at night up here. He walked away from the main doors, pulled out his phone again and dialled his wife.

“Hi love, you get to Glasgow okay?”

“Yes, some delays, but we are here. You never told me that I would be sharing the room with five girls!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my plate the last couple of days.”

“I understand, but it’s kind of a big deal.”

“I know, I did try to find other accommodation, but everywhere else has been booked out for months. I could have put Laura or Tracy in with Emily and the girls, but that would have left you alone in a room with Bev and either Tracy or Laura. I didn’t want you alone in a room with just two girls.”

Clive sighed and rubbed his face with his left palm. “Okay. I’ll sleep in the minibus.”

“Don’t be daft! I spoke to the girls before they left, they don’t mind, Emily certainly doesn’t.”