Triumph

I'd sipped my tea, listening more than I'd talked, leaving it to Janice to winkle out that Alan was a medical-school drop-out who'd decided that he far preferred writing to dissection, and had from there somehow bootstrapped his own company that specialised in lifestyle product reviews. As he had put it, it did well enough for him to roam around looking for hapless women to rescue from killer vegetation, and I'd flushed at the way Janice had laughed at that.

He'd stayed a while, then regretfully left to 'Go and placate the boss,' as he called his assistant. I'd waved as he'd climbed onto his Yamaha and steered it slowly back down to the road.

Then I'd helped Janice clean up, thanked her again, accepted with good grace the hug and kiss and concerned demands that I phone if I started feeling unwell, and waved her goodbye as well.

And then I'd just sat, staring at the photos, remembering.

At dusk I'd eaten some bread and peanut butter, washed it down with a double vodka, had an abbreviated shower, and then fallen asleep on the couch to a rerun of "Love Actually".

--

A car door slammed, waking me. I sat up, bleary eyed, and limped to the kitchen counter.

A green Volkswagen was parked next to my Triumph with its hatch open. Then Alan appeared, carrying a tool box.

He'd set up a stool and an array of tools by the time I'd crossed the distance to my bike.

"Good morning," he said.

"Uh... hi. What are you doing here?"

"I have a friend who's massively into Bonnevilles; I went to beg some parts and advice off him, then came here to see whether you've got anything planned for the morning."

"It's seven am."

"I'm an early riser when I have a good reason to be."

"You're certainly a pushy person," I replied. "Most normal people would ask for permission before assuming I'd be ok with this."

He shrugged. "Way I see it is that if you're not ok with it you'll tell me, and if that's the case I'll pack up and get out of your space. But I could see that you care deeply for this bike, and I can help fix it. If you want my help, that is."

I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. "What do you get out of this?" I asked.

"Time not in an office, working on a bike, talking to someone new," he answered, candidly. "I like working with my hands but don't get to do it much. So this is me being selfish. "

His smile gave the lie to his words.

"I'll make coffee," I said. "Don't start without me."

--

He torqued the last bolt down. "There. Done."

"You think she's ok to start?"

"Climb on and give it a try. There's no petrol leaking, so no risk of fire."

I swung my leg over, clicked Bonnie into neutral, turned the key and pressed the starter button. She coughed once or twice, belched a bit of smoke, then settled down into her normal slightly lumpy rumble.

"Brilliant!" I said. "Thank you so much!"

He smiled. "Glad to be of service. I'm still amazed you got away with so little damage."

"I'm just relieved what I did was fixable. This bike is my life."

"Then I'm glad I was able to help. Take it for a quick ride, I'll wait here for you."

"I don't have time," I sighed. "I'm behind on work."

"If you're already behind, another fifteen minutes won't kill you."

"You're a bad influence," I said, softly.

He grinned but said nothing to deny it as he started to clean up.

--

I sat, staring out over the fields, coffee growing cold beside me. Alan had left hours earlier and yet here I still sat, musing instead of doing the work I should be.

It had been a long, long time since I'd had more than a passing conversation with anyone other than Janice. And he was different. Gentle, polite, and yet decisive. And his gentle banter had hinted at a playfulness that ran counter to his grey hairs.

He'd stayed long enough to ensure Bonnie was running fine, and had then left, excusing himself with the explanation that he needed to make up the time he'd spent loitering with me the day before.

"Call me if you want to go for a ride sometime," he'd said, handing me his business card. The digits of his mobile phone number slanted neatly across the back; I'd tapped it thoughtfully to my chin as I'd watched him drive off.

The thought of seeing him again had made me feel a strange flutter of interest.

And that had brought the feelings of guilt. So I'd sat here, doing nothing, as the sun swung up to noon.

Eventually I summoned the energy to climb to my feet. I found my old Samsung in a drawer, put in my simcard, and put the phone on to charge. I did a load of laundry. I answered an email or two. Then I pulled on my jacket, grabbed my kit, and took Bonnie down to the Beachcomber.

Janice looked up from her newspaper as I walked in.

"Bike alright then, I take it?"

I nodded. "Alan came around this morning and fixed her for me."

"You're kidding." She put her paper aside and leaned forward onto the counter.

"No, I'm as surprised as you are. Woke up this morning with him parked outside, unpacking tools."

"I hope you at least made him some coffee by way of thanks."

"Of course I did," I protested. "I'm not socially inept, Jan."

"Could have fooled me," she said, eyes twinkling. "He's a nice boy. I like him. Very polite," she continued with a grin. "If I were younger I'd give you a run for your money."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on, Heather. He clearly likes you."

"He was just being a decent person, Jan. He found me on the side of the road and probably just wanted to make sure I was alright."

"He drove to your house at sparrow-fart to fix your bike. He likes you."

"You're delusional."

She rolled her eyes, still grinning.

"Anyway," I continued softly, "Peter."

"Peter's dead and gone, Heather. We scattered him up there in the hills, and if he's looking down on us right now the last thing he'd want is for you to be alone."

"How do you know that?"

"I raised him. I know my boy. He'd want you to be happy."

We sat together, two lonely women united for a moment by our memories. Then I sighed.

"I need to go. I need to go do some work."

"Don't close yourself off from the possibility of happiness, Heather."

I shrugged, then stood and turned for the door.

"Here, wait," she said. She made me a latte, and clipped the plastic lid onto the cup. "Here. Go think about what I said, girl. If it helps, you have my approval to move on from my boy. I'll never love you less for it."

I lifted the counter gate, stepped round it, and hugged her hard. "I know that, I know that," I whispered. "And you have to know how much that means. But I don't think I'm ready. How can I be with someone if I haven't even come to peace with me?"

"Time and tide wait for nobody, my girl. Don't wait too long or you'll miss yours."

--

Dusk found me walking slowly along the sand, dodging the odd wave thrown up by the ebbing tide. I felt confused, unsure of what to do. Janice's words chased themselves around my head; followed by thoughts of Alan. Contact with him, however brief, had left me aware of how desperately lonely I was - Janice my only real physical tie to the world; all my others as ephemeral as an dream.

Deep down I knew Janice was right. I knew Peter would not have wished this solitude on me.

But I knew, too, that I'd chosen this. Perhaps forgivably - my loss was still raw. Even now, even after the three long years, it sometimes seemed like I only needed to blink and Peter would appear; roaring around the corner in his mad, wild-haired way with some new project with which he could drive me to distraction.

I kicked some sand at a wave.

My old life was ashes on the wind, bar the memories. Would drawing a line under it and trying to start over be such a betrayal?

Would getting to know Alan better be denying my old life? Would staying as I was bring Peter or Kirsty back?

No.

I sighed.

Not much of a base to build on. But I'd made a decision, and that was something. I'd reach out, be as open as I was capable of, and see what happened.

It would be good to have another friend, after all.

--

"Alan speaking."

"Hi, it's me." I said.

"Hello, who's this?"

"Oh. Right. It's Heather. Your rescue case."

"Heather! Of course! Hello, it's good to hear from you. The Bonneville still ok?"

I smiled. "Yeah, thanks. Bonnie is still right as rain. I was calling... well... I was calling to take you up on that offer for a ride sometime."

"You got a sometime in mind?"

"Well. Do you work Saturdays?"

"Not generally no."

"So tomorrow then?"

"Sounds perfect. What time and where shall I meet you?"

"Any time. I'm a free agent. You ok to meet me at my place?"

"No problem at all. I'll see you tomorrow. Seven in the morning?"

"Seven thirty, " I replied. "Gives me a half hour to get ready. I need panelbeating before I'm allowed outside."

"I sincerely doubt that. But ok. See you tomorrow, Heather."

"See ya."

I hung up. Then for the first time in as long as I could remember I cooked myself a proper meal, and ate it outside under the stars.

--

"You're late," I said, as he pulled off his helmet.

"Traffic," he offered by way of apology.

"Uh huh. Traffic he says, straddling his supersport."

"I was being well-behaved."

"I find that impossible to believe."

His answering smile crinkled his eyes, and once more he looked much younger than he was. "It's a lovely day," he said, glancing upwards. "Anywhere specific you want to go?"

"No. You?"

"No. We could head up the coast road a ways, see what we find?"

"That sounds nice, actually. I haven't been up that way since... well, in a long while."

"There's supposed to be a nice gastropub up that way. We could look in and see what the menu's like."

I stood, reaching for my helmet. "Let's get going then. Would hate to waste the day."

--

Shadows flickering on visor. Rushing of the wind in my ears. The bob and weave of the bike under me. The burbling roar as I opened the throttle at each apex. And always, the narrow nose of the Yamaha, tucked in behind me, keeping station through the sweeping turns up and over the pass.

We pushed the pace as the road straightened and emptied out, and I laughed as Alan screamed past me, pretending to slap his bike's seat like a deranged cowboy. I tried to stick to him, but I ran out of courage long before Bonnie ran out of will, and I eased off and sat up, letting Bonnie coast back down to a responsible speed. After a moment Alan copied me and dropped back to beside me. I glanced over at him, and laughed again at the cheeky thumbs up he gave me.

It was bliss. Innocent bliss, not a care in the world. Just Bonnie and me and someone to share the ride with again.

Which was good, considering that our intended destination was closed for renovation. We perched on our bikes for a moment, staring morosely at the hand-painted sign that blocked the stairs and torpedoed our brunch.

"We could always go back to my place," I offered, after some momentary misgivings. "I probably have enough to at least make us some sandwiches. And it's not that far back."

"Sounds like a good option to me," Alan said. "I don't think there's much else around here."

So back we looped, back out onto the road. A slower trip back this time; I felt no need to hurry and to be honest I almost regretted the offer. But it would be extremely rude to change my mind now, and it was a lovely day. I would regret not spending more of it with him.

--

I idled Bonnie slowly over to the tree, kicked down the kickstand, and set her gently over onto it. I swung my leg off the saddle and leaned back against Bonnie as I waited for Alan to park up.

Nerves made me clumsy with my keys, and I gave a flustered "Fuck" or two as I struggled to open my door.

"Well... welcome," I offered, sheepish.

Alan smiled. "Thanks for having me over, Heather. It's very kind of you to let me impose like this."

"It's no imposition," I lied. "But it's not much of a kindness either, I think we may be eating rabbit food for lunch."

I dug into my fridge, and managed to find some passable cucumber and tomato. A half-empty jar of mayonnaise and one of my emergency cans meant that we could at least eat tuna mayonnaise. I turned, and saw Alan inspecting the photos. He looked up, saw me watching him, and glanced aside.

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing. "So..." I managed. "I can offer you something better than lettuce at least."

"Can I help at all, Heather?"

I pushed a cutting board towards him and plonked the tomatoes down on it. "Here. Cut these."

"Sorry for being nosey," he said, softly.

"You don't need to apologise. I'm just prickly sometimes," I demurred. "Feel free to snoop around if you like."

"Maybe after lunch," he replied.

We assembled our sandwiches, and I poured us both glasses of water. Then I shouldered open the back door and lead him out to my table. "Umbrella?" I asked.

"Nah" he returned as he took a seat. "It's nice to sit in the sun for once. Most days I get out of work too late to see much of it."

"And weekends?" I asked.

"Outdoors. My son rock climbs, so I often tag along after him."

"You have a son?"

"Yeah. His mother didn't feel like staying married to a workaholic, so I didn't see him much before he turned sixteen. He's twenty three now."

"And you are..." I fished.

"Forty one. And yes, he wasn't planned, and no, I do not regret him at all," he continued. "Best mistake I ever made in my life. Second perhaps being buying a supersport motorcycle." He sipped his water. "And you, Heather?"

"And me, what?"

"Age, sex, language," he said, deadpan.

"Hah. Age, ancient, sex, indeterminate, language, well... Ich spreche kein Deutsch."

"Ancient?"

"Withered," I retorted, curling my fingers into claws and rolling my eyes.

He snorted. "Not so ancient you don't still know how to have fun."

"Today's an exception."

He leaned back, grinning. "Well, thank you for making an exception for me, then."

"So isn't your son missing you today?"

He shook his head, still grinning. "Chasing a girl this weekend. He's at a music festival. Dad plays second fiddle to a pretty face."

"I suppose I should thank him for giving you time off."

"It makes a nice change of pace. I don't get to ride much over weekends for obvious reasons. So getting out today with you was a rare treat."

"Now you're flattering me," I answered, softly.

He took a drink of water. Then he leaned forward.

"Whatever hurt you was awful. It's not hard to see the scars."

"I..."

"I don't know what it was, and while I have a pretty good idea I'm not going to pry. You'll tell me if you're ever good and ready. But grief doesn't define you, Heather. It bends you, wrecks parts of you. Sometimes you might wish it finished the job. But you're still alive, still breathing."

He picked at a knot in the table top. "You break yourself down," he continued, eventually. "You may not even realise you do it, but you belittle and diminish yourself through your choice of words. Calling yourself old. Pah," he snorted. "Old is in the mind until you're my age. Then, maybe, you earn the right to start bitching about it."

His small, sympathetic smile took the sting out of his words.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked as the silence stretched out.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak just yet.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "But I'm not good at keeping quiet when things are wrong."

"I just... I can't talk about it," I gulped. "I can't. Please don't ask me about it. I can't," I started to sob. "I can't I can't I can't!"

And just like that, my walls were down, and it was Tuesday, and Janice was phoning me, voice almost unrecognisable, to tell me that my Peter was gone.

--

"Thank you," I whispered.

Alan held me for a few seconds more, then released me. He got up out of his crouch, wincing as his knee clicked. "Here," he said gently, passing me my glass. I clutched it, knuckles white, willing myself not to cry anymore.

"Sorry," he said, again. "I feel like a real dick now."

"Don't," I managed. "Don't. This isn't your fault. You didn't do this to me."

"But I reminded you of it."

"You took me out of it for a few brief happy moments. It never leaves me. It's always here."

"Why don't you leave this place then?" he asked, softly.

"Too many memories. I can't leave them behind. They're all I have left now."

He pulled his chair around next to mine, and sat down in it. Then, gently, he reached out and pulled me against him.

I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears.

And then, quietly, he began to sing. Softly, almost sotto voce. And slowly I calmed. Slowly I breathed. Slowly I was able to push the black wave of grief back down into the casket I kept it in.

"I need a drink," I whispered.

"I won't judge you."

"Means I have to get up though. And this is the first... the first hug I've had in a long time. And I need it more than I need alcohol."

"I take back some of what I said. You've earned your scars. I won't belittle them again."

"Thank you." I shivered, exhausted. "Sorry for disintegrating on you."

"Again, you've earned those scars."

We sat for a while, silent, watching the wind on the wheatfields, lunch mostly forgotten.

--

I poured myself a large tumbler of vodka, and then scrounged some of my remaining bourbon for Alan. Outside, I could hear the muffled, repetitive thock as he chopped firewood.

He'd spent his afternoon distracting me with amusing stories and the antics of his son, and I'd mostly recovered myself. Dusk had come, and Alan had offered to build a fire in my disused fire pit. I'd been unwilling to end our day; having him around was a comfort, and so I'd agreed.

I picked up the two tumblers and ducked out through the back door.

Then stopped, nonplussed, staring at the stark musculature etched across Alan's back.

Pale scars criss-crossed his left shoulder, and his ribs showed under the ridges of his lats when he bent over to pick up the split sections of ash. His biceps moved like snakes in oil as he raised the axe. With a single, smooth blow he sectioned another log.

I swallowed, then cleared my throat.

He set the axe down, then turned, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Hi," he smiled.

"I brought you some whisky," I squeaked, trying not to stare.

"Thanks, I'm nearly done."

"You planning to stay for winter?" I teased, looking at the pile of split logs he'd assembled.

"You had lots of wood in your store, but none ready for burning. I like this sort of stuff. Good stress relief," he added.

"I should start a business for busy execs. 30 minutes of firewood chopping twice a week, in your boardroom."

He laughed. "I've heard of crazier ideas." He reached for his shirt, and pulled it on.

I probably enjoyed the show far more than I should have, considering.

--

I leaned back in my chair, watching him as he prepared and lit the fire. "You're quite the outdoorsman," I observed.

"If I won the lottery I'd move into a coppice and never come out," he replied. "If it had a river for swimming and a cliff for climbing... well, that would be near as could be my idea of heaven."

"Where would you ride, then?"

He pondered. "Grocery and alcohol runs."

"And where would your son and his girlfriend stay when they visited?"

"He's a big boy, he could have the tent."

I laughed quietly. "He's a lucky boy to have you as a dad."

Alan glanced at me. "That's kind of you to say. I'm not sure he's always agreed... we butt heads occasionally, but it seems to have worked out ok."

"You're a good man," I said. "You do things right. I can see you take pride in what you do. Many kids don't get that sort of role model."

"Pity I didn't get to show it much for most of his childhood," he sighed. He slumped back into his chair. "Lots of wasted years, that story."