The McCabe Girls Complete Collection: Cat, Fen, Pip, Home Truths

‘What have I done?’ Rachel asked, trying not to be offended.

‘I see you in the truck – with the Viper mechanic. You are stupid! He is dangerous!’

Rachel, who was utterly at ease with her level of intelligence and with the authenticity of André’s virtues, was nonetheless agitated by Massimo bombarding into her personal life.

‘I go tell our directeur!’ Massimo cautioned. ‘Then I go tell L’Equipe.’

Though Rachel would have quite liked a profile in France’s famous sports paper, she knew that it would not be her sex life which warranted any such exposure. She accepted that Massimo’s concerns were legitimate, for the good of the team, but still Rachel was exasperated.

‘I’m entitled to some privacy, Massimo,’ she said.

‘Why you do it?’ Massimo demanded. ‘You spy? Who you poison next? Vasily? He ride like shit today.’

‘For Christ’s sake,’ Rachel said emphatically, ‘I was just having a shag.’

Massimo regarded her blankly. ‘You?’ he gasped, utterly staggered, as if considering for the first time that Rachel McEwen had a libido, let alone an active sex life. ‘You? Rachel?’

‘Me, Rachel,’ she said with steel in her voice.

‘You had a fuck in the truck?’ Massimo exclaimed, wide-eyed and gobsmacked.

‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ Rachel replied. It irritated her to see that Massimo’s primary concern and immediate relief was more that she was not a spy or drink spiker, than he was pleased for her to have found someone she liked.

‘Good,’ he said, ‘I apologize. You great soigneur and lovely lady. Why you not choose a guy from some other team?’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Rachel, now thinking it all so tedious, ‘as if I chose the team before the man. Give me a break.’

‘You are very hard biscuit,’ Massimo said earnestly.

‘A tough cookie,’ Rachel deduced.

Massimo rubbed his newly shaved chin. ‘I fail, Rachel, I am no good,’ he rued, his voice cracking.

Rachel was relieved to have the focus taken away from herself. ‘You didn’t fail,’ she told the rider.

‘I lose my jersey. I lose my dream,’ he sobbed. ‘I lose my beard. Now I live a nightmare.’ Rachel put a supportive arm around his shoulder because there was no way she could massage his ego just then.

‘Oh,’ he wept, ‘I cannot return home. I must exile myself. How could I do this! To the team? To the sport? To my family? To the people of Italy!’

Rachel let the rider sob and rant, accepting it to be a fundamental requirement of her job. She listened attentively and said soothing things that he was incapable of hearing and which would have had little effect anyway. She would have liked to let her mind wander back to André, to how he made her body feel, to relish the excitement and anticipation she felt. But all that panoply would have to wait. She had a job to do. She changed Massimo’s dressings, did a little work on his shoulder, and made him hot milky malty cocoa to take to bed.

STAGE 17

Aix-les-Bains-Neuchâtel. 218.5 kilometres

What on earth are you doing, Ben? It’s just gone two in the morning and you’re creeping along the hotel corridor, listening hard at the doors of your riders. You’re opening the door to Luca and Didier’s room – why are you doing that? See, they’re both sleeping soundly. You can hear them breathing. So go. But you’re hovering and listening attentively – why?

I had to check something.

What?

That if Didier wasn’t dangling himself from a door frame, he was sleeping soundly.

You’re talking about EPO, aren’t you?

Yup, erythropoietin.

The recent drug of choice for cyclists?

Er, the tennis and athletics associations might do well to ferret around their sports too.

Doesn’t EPO simulate the advantages of altitude training on the body?

It’s a hormone produced naturally by the kidneys. Administered, it boosts the red blood cell count and increases the amount of oxygen that can be carried in the blood; as the bloodstream can transport more oxygen around the system, endurance is enhanced and aerobic capacity is increased.

It sounds wonderful.

Undoubtedly – when used by the medical profession to treat people with kidney failure, anaemia and alleviate the side-effects of some AIDS treatments.

How fantastic.

It can also turn the blood to jam. A few years ago, there was a spate of riders dying mysteriously in their sleep. Cyclists’ superfit hearts can pump at around 190 bpm and then rest as low as 30 bpm. That’s when EPO can become lethal. The slower the heartbeat, the thicker the blood, the quicker it begins to clot and the heart begins to stall. That’s why I wanted to check if Didier was hanging off a door, stretching out to thin his blood. That’s why I needed to listen to his breathing pattern in his sleep.

And he was OK, so why not go back to bed?

True, Didier is sleeping soundly but maybe he’s taken a good dose of aspirin. The danger of taking anticoagulants to thin the blood is the risk of haemorrhaging should Didier crash.

Do you think Didier is on something?

I don’t know. I really don’t. The thing with EPO is that it must be taken up to a week in advance and then every couple of days. He wasn’t well, if you remember, towards the end of the first week of the Tour.

But where would he get it?

Shady characters and clandestine deals aren’t restricted to grim alleyways and crack cocaine.

We’re talking about a banned substance, not a class A illegal drug. Doesn’t pro cycling have one of the longest lists of banned substances in professional sport?

Yes. However, riders can spout the disclaimer ‘I’ve never tested positive’ – that’s different from saying they’ve never used dope.

But isn’t this the sport with the most dope controls and the lowest number of positive tests?

Some riders will always seek ways to stay a step ahead of detection. Ever heard of Michel Pollentier? In the 1978 Tour, after he had taken the yellow jersey on L’Alpe D’Huez, he failed the dope test by attempting to pass off someone else’s urine concealed in a rubber tube hidden in his shorts.

That’s actually quite funny.

Yeah, right – did you hear the one about the cyclist who went to dope control and was told, ‘You’ve tested negative and congratulations, you’re also pregnant’?

Oh, very droll.