El didn't think the clubhouse was much to look at. Although it was a smart building, it was brutalist. (Part of her hated herself for knowing what type of building a building was- most people didn't care, did they?) So it was obviously awful. It was high but squat looking, kind of grey and looked nothing special.

And yet, Dale had almost killed himself to get there. The inside must be good, thought El. From her distance from outside the building, about a hundred metres away, she could see a wide space of fields that fell out behind the building. There was also a wide circle of road- that was probably there so that riders could practise on pedestrian roads without the fear of being run over by inconsiderate drivers. The rest, it seemed, must have been inside.

El hadn't told anyone she was coming here. That sounded like something that would get you murdered and no one would know where to look for your body, but it was the truth. Her parents had been going out anyway, (without dragging her along for one- small mercies) so there had been no need to tell them- plus, how would that have gone? El could imagine it in her mind: "Hey mum, hello Dad, I'm going out today to try and get a place on a cycling team for my recovering anorexic boyfriend so he has something to work towards. Do you want me to get anything from Waitrose? Just NO.

She couldn't have told Dale, because he'd or tried to stop her or thought that he was being some burden to her; that was the furthest thing from the truth. El liked Dale. Perhaps not as much as he liked her, seeming that she had to think so much to decide whether or not to go out with him, but he was growing on her every day. If she could do anything to help him, she would. Also, he defiantly wasn't a burden- Dale gave El something in her life that wasn't just science and maths.

El loved science and maths, but she needed something more- something that she hadn't had since…

El pushed that thought out of her mind. She couldn't think about him- not toady of all days, when she needed to be at her best.

She took a deep breath and held it, before letting it out slowly. She clenched her fists and then unclenched them. El made her way to the brutalist building, which had better be better inside, help her god.

2

The inside was much better than the outside, it had to be said. For one, it was much more modern. The walls were white washed, there was a minimalist theme and the only thing that lined the walls were a few pictures here and there. El thought they must be famous cyclists: she recognised some from the magazine Dale read. She half expected Bradley Wiggin's photograph to be hung somewhere.

As she looked around the place, she walked towards the reception desk that was on the other side of the room. A receptionist sat there and was intently clicking at something on her computer. However, she looked up as El approached. She must have heard her footsteps- they were load because El was the only person in the room that was walking. Apart from her and the receptionist, the room was deserted.

"Can I help you?" The woman asked.

"Yes, actually, I believe you can." El stood to her highest height and leaned over the desk, to make the closest contact with the woman. She had done this a few times before- hell, she'd been taught how to get her own way since birth: Avington's were leaders, not followers. El cleared her throat and spoke with as thick an Oxford accent she had- it seemed to make her seem professional.

"I would like it if I could speak to someone in charge."

The woman looked at El, seemingly incredulous. She looked at El up and down, with her yellow coat and youthful skin that told her that El was no older than a schoolgirl, be that one that only had a year or two to go- but a schoolgirl no le.

"May I ask you are?"

El smiled; she had been expecting the woman to ask that. It was time to play her secret weapon, then- the thing that made getting your way so easy.

"I am Eloise Avington- I am the daughter of the businessman Herold Avington- he owns the IT Company nearby called AvingtonSolutions. I assume you've heard of him?"

That made the woman shoot up. Obviously she'd heard of El father and the company he owned if she didn't live under a rock. El hated using her family name to get to places- she hated the way that people bended over backwards just because there was a chance she might tell her father. As if- her father never talked about his work with her. Not that El would want him to.

She was glad that Dale and her friends hadn't seemed to twig who her father was yet. It would be awful to think that people were being nice to her just because of her family- she'd always be paranoid that people only wanted her around because of who her relations were. It was bad enough when some of her teachers found out.

It hadn't happened as much in Oxford- at her grammar school, most people had successful parents or families, but in Greenock her name was earning her more looks that she would like. The receptionist was just an example. The weird thing was, though, it hadn't happened at all at Waterloo Road. Havalock, yes. Waterloo Road? No.

"Oh, yes Miss! Of course. Wait there just one moment, I'll just call the manager- he'll talk to you."

"Much appreciated." El smiled.

The receptionist nodded and picked up the phone on her desk, her perfectly manicured nails clinking against the plastic. El waited.

"Yes. Yes, sir, I understand that. It's Eloise Avington, daughter or that IT company owner. Yes, she's waiting right in front of me. Yes. Okay." Finally, after a good few minutes, the woman got off the phone.

El waited with baited breath. If the manager didn't at least see her then her hopes for Dale lay in tatters, along with his dreams.

"Okay," the receptionist said. "Colin's in a meeting, but he'll of finished in there in half an hour."

"Great." El replied. She was relived- now all she had to do was convince the man. She'd try to plan out what she's say whilst she was waiting.

"There's a seat over there," the receptionist pointed to an uncomfortable, fairly modern looking thing that was made of plastic and looked like it was designed to be a torture instrument rather than giving your bottom comfort. "And I can bring you a drink, if you'd like. We have juice: apple and orange," she counted the drinks on her fingers. "Coffee, tea, smoothies-"

"Tea, thanks." El interrupted, worried that the woman might become stuck like a broken record listing drinks. "One sugar, please." The woman nodded and walked off, her heels tapping on the floor. El walked over to the seat, sat down and decided that the seat felt as uncomfortable as it looked.

When the woman came back, El started to plan what she'd say to the manager, with sips of tea in-between. She'd defiantly have to play up her name; the receptionist had told the manager who she was and it was probably the only reason why he'd allowed her to see him. To impress a manager of one of the best cycling clubs in the country meant that she'd have to as professional as possible.

Inside El's head, a plan started to form.

El was the latest in generations of Avington's before her. They were all successful in one way or another- the pressure of doing well and being successful also grew with every generation. El's father has set up an IT company which grossed a few million every year, whilst his father before him had added to the family's bank balance by investing in computers just before they boomed, making himself a tidy profit. Not all Avington's had been business minded; some had been thinkers, just like El was. One of her relations, an uncle, had recently received a CBE from the queen for his work on stem cells. Apparently he was using the research for work on cancer treatments. Even if they hadn't been thinkers, Avington's had managed to marry into other successful families to keep their reputation strong- keeping the name all the while.

Sometimes it took El's breath away how much she had to live up to. She tapped her foot against the floor in agitation. Even some of her older cusions were doing better that her: one had already set up his own business in prosetics- new ones that worked with the injured genetics. Apparently it was a booming business.

Long after she'd finished her cup of tea, the door to the manager's office opened. People, mostly men, flooded out of the room, all of them dressed in business attire. El realised that these people must have been the people that the manager was a meeting with. Soon after that, the phone rang at the receptionist's desk. She picked it up, listened, put it down and told El that she could go in now.

El stood up on shaky feet. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself, straightened her clothing (she was wearing a smart blue shirt with black jeans in an attempt to appear even just a tad professional whilst also not arousing suspicion in her parents. It wasn't every day that people left the house in business clothing on their weekends) and stood up straight. She then walked into the room, trying to look professional.

The office was the opposite of the outside, just like the lobby had been. It was modern, with metal, glass and minimalist furnishing taking the main stage in the room. There was a glass desk that was the most cluttered thing in the room, holding an AppleMac, a few pens and pencils, a binder and few photographs around the edges. It was fair to say that the manager did not like clutter.

The manager walked up to El as she entered the room.

"Miss Avington," he said, shaking her hand. El hoped she avoided a 'dead fish handshake.' "It's a pleasure. How is your father doing? I read in the local newspaper that his company is making an exordinate amount of money."

El opened her mouth to speak, before she was interrupted.

"Sorry, that was rude. Of course you don't know the accounts of your family's business."

"No." El replied. "Sir, I need to get straight to the point."

"Please, call me Colin." He mentioned for her to sit down on a seat opposite him. Yes, I would advise you to get straight to the point. Not only am I wondering what was so important that you could not get an appointment for, I have another meeting in twenty minutes."

El nodded. "Sir, I would like enquire about you taking on another person for your club's cycling team."

The manager pursed his lips and sat down.

"If that's all that you came to ask me about, I'm sorry, but it was a wasted journey. We're already at full capacity with our cycling team."

El lent forward. "I know, but sir-"

"I'm sorry, Miss-"The manager said, pointing towards the door.

"You already know him!" El shouted out, losing him her cool for a moment, but her opportunity was slipping away.

"Whatever do you mean?" The manager asked.

El took a deep breath. "His name is Dale Jackson, sir. To be on this team is what he wants most in the world. He's a great cyclist, and was training with a professional coach until very recently. In the area where he lived before moving to Greenock he was on the county team with the potential to go onto the Olympics in Rio. Your club even gave him a bike for his trail." She said, rattling off some of the speech she'd made in her head whilst waiting to go in, piecing together some of the information Dale had told her over the time that she had known him.

The manager ingested the large amount of information, thinking it over. Finally he said: "Dale Jackson, you say? Wasn't the one that had to forfeit his place on the team due to an eating disorder?"

El swallowed. The manager would have had to have known eventually, but she wasn't expecting it to be the one and only piece of information he seemingly knew about Dale. "Yes, Dale is battling with an eating disorder, but he's making great progress and he's ready to bike again. All he needs is permission from his therapists."

"If you don't mind, Eloise, how do you know all of this about Dale?"

"Not at all-I'm his girlfriend, sir."

"His girlfriend! Well, that explains why you're fighting so hard for him. Love's young dream, eh?"

He stared at her.

"I- I suppose."

"Now, Eloise, don't you think it's a bit naive to come and ask me for a place on the team for a person that isn't even here, has previous mental difficulties and cannot even bike without the permission of his therapists- something he hasn't even gotten yet?"

El realised that this was her last chance to convince the manager, otherwise he would slip away. So she gave it her all.

"Perhaps, but I have belief that Dale will get better, as he's currently doing." She paused. "And he will get permission from his therapists. Dale has the talent to make it onto the team that I'm sure of, as he won a place last time. He's a hard worker and will push himself to be the best that he can be- something that's very important for an athlete, is it not?"

"It is."

"And, sir, between you and me, giving a boy with anorexia a second change would make very good PR for your club, especially in the newspapers. You might even make it on the TV. More PR will mean more coverage, meaning more sponsors and donations for your club. That's something I think you'll be very interested in."

The manager thought for a moment. El could basically see the cogs turning inside his head.

"Very well," he said. El smiled. "Dale's in luck. As it happens, one participant has dropped out of the club for personal reasons. I'm not saying I'm giving Dale a place in the team." El's face fell. "But I will give him another trial." He checked his wall calendar. "There's one in four weeks. Can Dale be ready by then?"

El nodded. "He can."

"I'll be fair. If Dale wins the trail, he can have a place on the team, if not, well, I'm sorry Miss Avington, but it's not really my problem."

El sensed the conversation was coming to the end so she stood up. "Thank you," she said, shaking the manager's hand. "Dale will be over the moon when I tell him, he really will. You don't know what this'll mean to him."

"I'm glad I could help," the manager said as El made it to the door. "And miss Avington?"

"Yes?"

"Tell your father how our club is helping your boyfriend, will you?"

"Of course," El said, as she left the room. She wouldn't tell her father of course, as he didn't even know that El had a boyfriend, but she appreciated the help all the same. Dale would be so pleased when she told him- she couldn't wait to see his face. It would give something to work towards; being on the club would give Dale goals and opportunities outside the world of eating disorders.

Maybe she was naive to think that getting in the club would help with him- El was terrified that it would lead him down the same damaging road that it had before. But she'd try to help him, like she did before and make sure that he had someone to balance the pressure of the cycling club on.

She didn't have anyone to share the pressure with, not now, but that didn't matter.

El hurried out of the building, eager to see Dale and tell him the good news. No, not good news. Brilliant news.