by Daisy Tate
‘Seven extra miles,’ Sue was saying as if seven (modern day) miles were akin to a trip down to the corner shop. ‘You’ve done that several times already today, Flo …’ she tapped her fingers along her chin, thinking.
‘Five times,’ Raven filled in for her. ‘We’ve done thirty-five from Silloth. Then it’s twelve to Brampton and another seven to Gilsland.’
A dull throbbing pain presented itself so profoundly in Flo’s knees, she barely heard as Raven talked her through the rest of the route. A bit of river this, a bit of undulating countryside that, a market town that had hosted Charles Stuart for one night during the Jacobite rising. The fact caught her attention.
‘How on earth did you know that?’ Flo asked.
Raven scanned the crowd and pointed at, surprise surprise, Trevor. ‘Cool dude. He’s like a walking talking Google.’ Raven opened her mouth to take another bite of her baguette and then looked at Flo. Really looked at her. ‘You know, if your knees are hurting too much you could always ride in the bus with Becky. That’s what it’s for. Support.’
‘No!’
The vehemence of her response surprised all three of them. She might be a selfish, thoughtless, excuse of a mother who’d pushed her husband and children into doing all sorts of things they’d never wanted to do, but she was not going to do this charity ride on the bus. She’d tapped far too many pilots’ wives for money to only partially complete the trip. That … and she felt she owed it to Stu and the children. A penance for all she’d put them through. She’d crawl if she had to, which, considering how difficult it was going to be to stand up from the picnic table again, might very well be a possibility.
‘I might just be a bit slower than usual is all. But I will do this. I will ride all of the miles. Roman or otherwise.’
Sue began nodding and saying alright, alright, so what would we advise someone if they were to ring in with sore knees.
‘RICE.’ All three of them said in tandem. And then, with the efficiency of a trauma team, Sue and Raven went to work getting ice packs, cool gels, Fola and, to her surprise, Kath.
‘Alright there, Flo?’
Such a simple question. And yet … it felt like a game changer.
Flo had a choice to make. Lie through her teeth to keep up appearances as any self-respecting British woman of a certain age might, or be honest.
Everyone was looking at her. Raven, Sue and Fola who really did have magic hands. The man should be copyrighted. Or cloned. If she were home she could imagine Stu insisting upon seeing to Flo’s knees. She closed her eyes and pictured the chair he would park her in, the sounds as he meticulously went through the medicine cupboard (Stu liked to be prepared) and the steady, assured way he would knead away her aches and pains.
As the heat from Fola’s hands transferred deep into her knees, she began to understand what Stu and her children meant to her. They were her foundation. They made her strong. They were the reason she’d spent the past thirty-plus years showing off just how fabulous she could be. Desperate to prove she was interesting, fun and the life of the party. Desperate to prove Stu had made the right choice and that her children had the most interesting parents. What a fool she’d been. They’d wanted someone to love them. Someone who would love them back with the same fierce loyalty they’d shown her.
Her throat went scratchy. She was going to have to earn it back. Their love. Their respect. She’d certainly lost Jennifer’s. Jamie? Hard to say, but the poor boy had gone from her domineering household straight into the arms of another bossy, controlling woman, so … And Stu? God above, she hoped Stu still loved her. Respected her. ‘You know, Kath,’ she finally said, her voice sounding smaller than she had ever believed it could. ‘This is much, much harder than I thought it would be. What a silly moo I’ve been. Thinking I could just hop on my bicycle and ride across the country. And at my age!’
Fola made a tsk tsk sound with his tongue, then slipped away saying something about finding compression bandages.
Flo reached out her hands to Raven and Sue, both of whom were soaked through, stiffly shifting from foot to foot and, in Sue’s case, really quite muddy. ‘I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. We should’ve just had a cake sale. Sue, you make such lovely cakes. Have I told you that? How very much I love your cakes?’
Sue clasped Flo’s hand in both of hers. ‘You didn’t drag anyone! And you’re not old. You’re …’ Sue floundered for a moment because the truth was, yes, she was old unless you were counting the queen. ‘You’re an inspiration. You encouraged us. Me anyway. And Raven.’ She gave Raven’s arm a squeeze and Raven, who Flo had noticed wasn’t really a toucher, pulled little Sue under her arm and gave her a quick hug. Sue squatted down (with some difficulty) and looked Flo straight in the eye. ‘I never in a million years would’ve thought to come on a ride like this.’ She grinned up at Kath. ‘Especially with someone famous. I never would’ve asked people to donate money. I never would’ve believed I could’ve done anything like this at all—’ her words jammed in her throat and a sob erupted where Flo guessed she might have said ‘without my husband.’ When she’d swept away some tears, Sue continued, ‘I’m glad I’m here. I’ve ridden over eighty miles on a bicycle. Little Sue Young from Bicester. Little Sue Green who never finished anything in her entire life. I’m not finished yet. And neither are you.’
Creakily, Flo stood up. ‘We’re going to do this, aren’t we?’
‘Yes we are,’ Sue said.
Little smiles and giggles rippled through the four of them as Kath pulled them all into a group hug that felt very much like a pre-game huddle as they each said again and again with growing conviction, ‘We’re going to do this, we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this.’
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
‘Alright Sue?’
Sue gave Dean-O a thumbs up. Talking wasn’t part of the plan. Pedalling was. Pedalling was all there was.
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
‘Nice to see you up here with the Tour boys,’ Dean-O grinned, cycling up the hill as if he were being pulled up it by some invisible string. ‘You’re motoring. Way to pull it out of the bag! Must’ve been holding back for your friends.’
No. That hadn’t been it. When she hadn’t been weeping by the side of the road over the husband she would never see again, she’d been riding at a natural pace. Finding out about the extra seven miles had been a kick in the stomach she hadn’t needed, but … seeing Flo so down had made her heart ache. It was the first and only time she’d seen her look properly frail. There’d been a part of her that would’ve been quite happy to get on the bus with her and Becky, but when that ‘NO’ had come out of Flo so forcefully – as if she’d pulled it up and out of herself from the very centre of the earth – she knew she had to finish the day’s ride as well. So she’d drunk an entire Coca-Cola, eaten a Snickers and then sucked down a gel pack Fola was handing round in order to encourage Flo to get her electrolytes back in balance.
She had never felt so zippy. So much so she was considering doing the same again before Sunday lunches with her family. That way when Raven moved on, which she inevitably would, and Flo went back to her life, which she inevitably would, Sue might have the fortitude to stand up to her mother and Katie who, no doubt, would make it very clear for years to come how ridiculous she’d been to choose the cycle ride over a ‘holiday’ in the Canaries.
Although … some of that vroom vroom was fading away now that they were approaching Gilsland which, true to Flo’s elevation watch, was quite the uphill journey.
I think I can, I think … I can, I … think … I … can, IIIII think IIIIII caaaaaaan.
Hmmm.
Those gel packs weren’t quite the cure alls she’d originally thought.
‘Heading back to see your friends? That’s the spirit. Remember …’ Dean-O tapped his Gore-Tex covered heart. ‘Now that you know you’ve got it in here, to get up there …’ He
pointed to the top of the hill, ‘… you know you can do anything.’ He gave her a wave and then, though she felt she was pedalling as hard as she could, first one, then another, then another cyclist passed her until a grim-faced Raven, and a strapped-up Flo were flanking her as if she had been the one needing their support all along. One step forward, a thousand back. But perhaps not quite as alone as she’d thought.
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
‘And you’re getting on alright? With food and waterproofs and everything? How’s that watch working out for you?’
For the first time in their lives, Stuart was the one propping up the conversation. Florence simply didn’t know what to say to him. No idea whatsoever as to how to confront the fact she’d bulldozed into his lovely, contented life and then commandeered the rest of it for her own pleasure.
‘I’ve been enjoying all of those ready meals you put in the freezer for me,’ Stu said. Flo could hear him pat-pat-pat his belly, the sound so familiar and dear to her she almost burst into tears. There was so much she had to say to him, so many things to apologise for but each time she tried the words lodged in her throat like undercooked porridge.
‘How about you? Are they feeding you well? With all of that weather you’re having, I’m surprised they haven’t called the thing off. Good job it wasn’t camping as you’d originally thought, eh?’
‘Oh, you know … it’s the British way isn’t it? Stiff upper lip and all that,’ she said, hoping Stu couldn’t hear her stomach grumble. Everyone had gone to supper now. She simply hadn’t been able to face the large, increasingly motley crew at the pub crowing about mileage and near misses with tractors as they zipped up and down the extraordinarily steep hills on the way to Gilsland. That Hadrian must’ve been made of adrenaline. A latter day Iron Man. On her watch, the elevation had read like a heart rate monitor – the graph lurching upwards and downwards like someone suffering tachycardia. Peak and trough and peak and trough. Sue and Raven had very, very kindly pushed their bikes up alongside Flo as Becky shouted out encouragement and sang along to her ‘happy mix’ which she had played at full volume, windows down, despite the ever-present rain. Becky and the crew were off at the pub feasting upon hamburgers which were, apparently, a gift brought to Britain from the Romans if Trevor’s latest recitation was anything to go by. He’d told her this when he’d tapped on her door to present her with a spare banana and a slightly worse-for-wear packet of crisps when he’d heard she wouldn’t be joining everyone for supper. She’d humiliated herself by weeping when he’d handed them over. Whether it was from the pain of sitting up, or the idea that she’d have to walk the five steps back to her bed, or from the sheer generosity of his gesture, she didn’t know. All three most likely. Today had taken all of the energy she’d possessed. She hadn’t the slightest idea how she would complete tomorrow’s ride which, whilst mercifully shorter, featured the steepest hills of the entire coast-to-coast journey. It would make or break her. If this was the Grand National and she saw herself behind the starting gates, she would place her bets elsewhere. It would serve her right, she supposed. Being wheelchair bound from here on out. A victim of her own foolhardiness.
‘Stu, darling?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘You wouldn’t mind, awfully, putting Captain George on, would you?’
‘Of course not, love. He’s just here, right by my side.’
Wise old pooch.
She waited until she could hear Stu’s chair shifting across the tiles and the rustle of fur against phone before whispering, ‘Hello, my darling George. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I hurt you and abandoned you, but you know you’re in good hands, don’t you? Better hands than mine, anyway. Stuart is … Stuart’s the very best man I know. We’re both lucky to have him. He’s … please don’t take this the wrong way, because I love you so very much, but … Stuart’s the love of my life. He’ll look after you, my darling boy. Just as he’s looked after me.’
She was seized with a strange desire to howl but only managed to achieve a sort of low keening noise. Her body’s way of saying, enough.
She stopped when she heard the chair rasp against the tiles again.
‘Alright there, darling? Me again.’ Stuart’s voice sounded a bit choked, as if he needed to clear his throat but was waiting until he got off the phone because he knew how much Flo hated the noise. An old person’s noise, she’d snipped at him. Save it for your eighties. ‘How are you getting on, Florence? Really?’
‘It’s – I … I’m finding elements of it a bit more challenging than I thought.’ It was the closest she had come to being entirely honest with him on any of their calls. ‘Two more days. And it’s for such a good cause.’
‘Absolutely. We’ll be cheering you on, George and I. And the children, of course.’
‘Thank you, darling,’
‘Night night, then. Rest well.’
They ended their call and in the ensuing silence Florence sunk into a dark abyss, having never felt more alone.
Raven tip-toed through the darkened bedroom and into the loo. After carefully pulling her pants out and away from her derriere as opposed to stripping them downwards as she’d made the critical mistake of doing when they’d finally reached the b&b, she slowly lowered herself onto the toilet seat. Ohwowthathurt. Stingy where she’d never been stingy. Raw where … well … frankly … bum blisters weren’t really de rigueur in your average teen’s life, were they? She wished her mum was here. Her mum would help her. If she weren’t too stubborn to admit to her mother she’d been mortal and made a mistake. Raven panted through the most tortuous wee she’d ever had then sort of slithered down to the bathroom floor. She pulled all of the towels she could reach over her, tucked a face cloth beneath her cheek, and closed her eyes. A return journey to her bed was beyond the realms of possibility. Her entire body was being savaged by lactic acid. Those final seven miles had utterly slaughtered the remains of her bum skin, not to mention … other bits … down there. Tomorrow was going to be a loooooong day.
Chapter Forty-Eight
10 SECOND INTERSTITIAL: BRAND NEW DAY
VISUAL: Sunita ‘Raven’ Chakrabarti
AUDIO TRANSCRIPT:
RAVEN: It’s amazing, yeah. To be part of something bigger than myself. It shows you how good people really are beneath, you know, whatever their personal armour is. Mine is obviously make-up.
Off-camera question: Who taught you how to do it?
RAVEN: Who taught me? YouTube. There isn’t a Brown Goth Vlogger I couldn’t name. Ha. Hmm … It was my sister actually. For her wedding. She was such a Bridezil—sorry – she was very exacting about how she wanted everyone’s make-up to be because she wanted a traditional Indian wedding even though we were born and raised here, but … you know … it was her wedding and I was her little sister – keen to please – so I used to lock myself in my room and practice and practice and practice, until – voila! I can do an eyeliner flick with the best of them.
Off-camera question: Your parents must be proud of you.
RAVEN: My parents? Well … you know. They work hard in their shop. Their pharmacy. To be honest – that’s my new thing, bald honesty on hashtag Big Boned Goth Girl – I spent the night on the bathroom floor wishing my mum was there. I knew exactly what she’d do. She’d grab one of her weird salves and begin dabbing me with it while tell me off for being such an idiot, letting my bum get as sore as it is. Who knew it would take blisters on my booty to finally realise that micromanaging me is her version of love. She does it to all of her customers. Telling off Mrs Caplan for not picking up her prescription before the last one is out. Calling the Saunters’ grandkids so that they’ll come get Mr Saunter’s heart pills because he can’t walk very far anymore. They know everything about their customers. So, yeah … I guess, it’s me who’s proud of them, really. Doing what LifeTime does on their own street corner, because that’s where kindness begins, if you’re lucky. At home. Sorry, I – does that answer your
question?
GRAPHIC: BRAND NEW DAY: Bringing out the Best in Britons Everywhere
‘Well that’s it for the shout outs this morning. I’m glad we had time to get all of them in today. And an extra thank you to the Toes Up Energy Drink company for sending along a case of their carrot and ginger power shots! I think we’ll all be needing one of those today, especially with the weather. I thought it was April showers that were supposed to bring May flowers!’ Kath smiled, then frowned. She still had three minutes. Five if she asked them not to run the piece on wine tours outside of Cape Town which, all things considered, she thought was for the best. Kev was being flown back to the UK, allegedly to apologise, but she had her doubts. Apology was not one of Kev’s fortes. Her producer had advised her to proceed as normal, no acknowledgement of what happened, business as usual. The advertisers were all being busily and adamantly assured that something like that would never, ever, happen again.
Kath didn’t think Kev should be given a chance to prove them right or wrong.
She pointed up to her right, as instructed, knowing the team back at the studio would be filling the spot in with a Horrible Histories-esque graphic. We’ll be riding a modest twenty-seven miles today – about thirteen of them up hill and over dale until we arrive at the historic market town of Hexham which, if our resident brainbox Trevor is to be believed, has Britain’s best bread pudding at the refectory cafe, right in the heart of Hexham Abbey.’
Witter, witter, witter.
This was ridiculous. What was she doing acting all bright and chirpy when their entire viewing audience was no doubt quivering in anticipation for her to … what exactly? Fall to bits? Take a hit for her husband as she had so many times throughout the years? Smile, smile, smile?
Or was this the time to take a page out of Fola’s book? Pack her bags and try something new? He might not be rich. He might not be famous. But he could look at himself in the mirror every morning.
She squeezed her eyes tight even though she knew there’d be wrinkles and tried to summon a picture of her brother. He came to her, laughing. Lolloping about with her on his back. He used to love doing that once he’d grown taller than her. He’d hunch down, have her jump on, fingers woven together round his neck, choking him no doubt, then he’d race and race and race around the house, her mother screaming no you’ll be the death of her and her father saying put that girl down and Kath laughing and clinging to him but not having a care in the world because she’d known without a shadow of a doubt that when she was with him, there was no safer place in the world to be.