Run, Mummy, Run

by Cathy Glass

  ‘Look! Just here!’ he said, squatting down on his haunches and pointing. ‘This model has just been released.’ Aisha bent slightly forwards and saw the name FIREBLADE emblazoned in glinting chrome on the side of the bike. ‘It’s the latest,’ Mark exclaimed. ‘I had to put my name on the reserve list nearly a year ago. This will be one of the very first on the road. You won’t see another bike like this, believe me, Aisha. Not for ages.’ He paused, waiting for her response.

  She nodded, amazed, not so much by the bike, but that he had actually used her name.

  ‘Right,’ Mark continued, ‘I’ll explain about the engine first.’ He tapped just below the chrome nameplate. ‘It’s got a 918 cc liquid-cooled, four-stroke engine with new dual concentric valve springs. That means there’s optimum performance through precise valve operation from anywhere in the powerband. When you throttle back it goes like hell. I drove carefully bringing it here, but later I’m going to open it up properly on the motorway.’ He waited again for her reply.

  ‘I see,’ she said.

  ‘The manufacturers have used the very latest magnesium ACG for all the casings. Not only on the engine cover but here on the oil pan trim, and here too.’ He tapped various parts of the casing, which to Aisha looked more like thick black plastic or thin metal. ‘It’s reduced the bike’s weight by over 100 grammes. And together with the modified cowls, which are sleeker and more aerodynamic, it has lessened wind resistance, which in turn has made it even faster.’

  ‘Faster than what?’ Aisha asked, trying to think of a question as Mark paused and looked at her again.

  ‘The previous models.’

  ‘I see.’ She nodded again.

  ‘Now, down here,’ he said, shuffling sideways on his haunches towards the rear of the bike and signalling for her to follow, ‘is the latest pro-link suspension system. It’s mounted in the swing arm, here.’ Another tap. ‘Its effect is to isolate suspension stress, which in a nutshell means sharper handling, particularly on corners.’

  Aisha looked at the metal contraption which ran from the bike to the centre of the rear wheel. ‘I understand,’ she said nodding.

  ‘And of course, there’s the latest anti-locking device on the breaking system. I mean, you couldn’t have this much power without it.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘You couldn’t.’

  Mark stood and straightened. Aisha followed suit. ‘Now to the front and the headlamps,’ he said.

  He ran his hand up from the rear, over the leather seat and towards the front, caressing the bike like the outline of a curvaceous woman. Aisha followed him round so that they were both at the front, facing the bike head on. She was standing so close to him now she could smell his aftershave, the same brand he had used since they’d first met, a poignant, bittersweet reminder of what used to be. For years she’d only smelt it in the bathroom after he’d been in there in the morning, and at other times when he was this close to her it was her fear she smelt.

  ‘The headlights are slim, low-profile, dual-line beam, multi-reflector,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘They combine to project a more brilliant, aggressive forward image. You’ll appreciate, Aisha, that on a bike they serve a double purpose. Not only do they allow the rider to see, but more importantly to be seen. Most accidents involving bikes aren’t the rider’s fault, but happen when a car or lorry doesn’t see them and suddenly pulls out. This system increases the bike’s visibility considerably.’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked sideways at him as he continued with the advantages of the 43 mm HMAS front fork, which she understood was something to do with the steering. Mark was talking to her, using her name, making eye contact and touching her arm, wanting to draw her into his excitement. He pointed out the ‘state-of-the-art immobilizer’ so that the bike couldn’t be stolen, and she began to wonder. Was it possible that in fulfilling his lifetime ambition, reaching the fruition of his dreams, Mark had resolved an inner conflict, one born of frustrated desires, and had turned a corner? Was it possible that this was his way of reaching out to her, an olive branch of shared attainment, his way of bridging the gap? She allowed herself to be drawn further into his enthusiasm and wondered some more.

  ‘This is the automatic ignition,’ Mark said. ‘I’ll give you a blast.’

  ‘So you don’t have to kick-start them anymore?’ she asked, remembering the lads who had owned old motorbikes at university and could never get them started.

  Mark laughed, but not unkindly. ‘No, that was years ago. Have a listen to this.’ He took a key from his overall pocket, and inserting it in the lock, fired the engine. She started as the bike burst into life, a deep and very powerful throb that reverberated around the garage walls.

  ‘Mark, the children will wonder what’s going on,’ she shouted over the engine noise.

  Mark laughed, and giving the engine a couple more revs, turned it off. He moved down the side of the bike again, caressing the leather seat as he went. ‘Well, that’s the tour over,’ he said, glancing up. ‘What do you think, Aisha? Impressed eh?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ she enthused. ‘I can see why you’re so excited.’

  He looked very pleased, and as she watched him, standing in awe of his bike he suddenly seemed disarmingly childlike. She caught another glimpse of the old Mark, the one she used to know, who was vulnerable in his masculinity, and kind to her. And her heart softened and began to yearn for everything that had been and could possibly be again. It didn’t matter that he had spent a fortune on the bike, for doubtless he would make it up to them in his way, another time – if this was truly the turning point as she now desperately wanted to believe.

  ‘I’m glad you approve,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to take her out and see what she can do.’

  ‘Yes, but be careful – it’s raining out there, you know,’ she said, which she recognized as something her mother would have said – the limiting note of caution.

  He laughed again. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ve bought all the gear. Stay there and I’ll show you. You can tell me what you think.’

  Aisha watched as Mark strolled proudly to the rear of the garage and retrieved a large parcel from the beneath the shelves of tools. The brown paper had been loosely rewrapped and Aisha remembered the parcel arriving by express delivery at the beginning of the week. She’d had to answer the door, and when she’d given it to Mark that evening, he had actually thanked her. The paper rustled as he shook out the contents, and then held it up against him. It was an all-in-one zip-up leather suit. Red, exactly the same shade as the bike, but with luminous white flashes running the length of each side. He winked at her, and kicking off his shoes, stepped out of his overalls and into the suit, zipping it up to the neck. He posed again before her, arms folded and legs apart, proudly wanting her to see and appreciate. If Aisha thought a balding, middle-aged man, clad from head to foot in tight red leather looked faintly ludicrous, she certainly didn’t say.

  ‘Amazing,’ she said and smiled approvingly and prayed this really was the turning point.

  ‘Boots,’ Mark said, returning to the shelves and picking up a large cardboard box. ‘Knee-length, to give added protection. The lower leg is the most vulnerable part of a rider, although this bike’s cowls offer better coverage than most.’

  Aisha watched intently as he lifted the lid off the oblong box and took out a pair of long black leather boots. Placing them at his feet, he stepped in, one at a time and drew up the inside zips.

  ‘Now the helmet,’ he said. ‘Obviously the most important accessory of all. It has three-density energy absorption and is made from the latest high-grade polycarbonate, which means it’s virtually impenetrable.’

  He took another box from beneath the bench – this one had a photo of the helmet on the side – and carefully took out the helmet. Not red this time, but metallic silver, with an almost-black visor. It was very large and looked an odd shape, she thought, elongated to the front.

  ‘To protect the whole of this area,’ he explained, rub
bing his chin and neck. The helmet’s silver casing glinted in the fluorescent light, but Mark didn’t put it on, instead he tucked it under his left arm, and assumed the pose of a triumphant Grand Prix winner.

  ‘Well? What do you think?’ he asked, his eyes sparkling in the light as he waited for her approval.

  ‘Very smart indeed,’ she said, and clasped her hands together in admiration. ‘Not only do you look the part, but it will obviously give you excellent protection. And keep you warm?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I haven’t bought the gauntlets yet, you know – the gloves bikers wear. I’ve had to order them, they didn’t have my size in red. I’ll use ordinary leather gloves for now.’

  ‘Very sensible and so smart,’ she said again. Aisha knew that appearance had always mattered to Mark as much as practicality.

  He smiled. ‘I’m so glad you approve. I thought you would.’

  Standing there in the strange intimacy of the garage, feeling included and appreciated, she was sure now. In realizing his dream, it was the answer to hers, and they could reset the clock and begin again. They hadn’t been this emotionally close for a long time, not since their troubles had begun, and it was impossible it could be anything else – his sincerity and openness were so obvious and intense. This was his way of reaching out to her, of saying he was sorry and he hoped they could repair the damage and be a couple again. Aisha’s thoughts went fleetingly to the monk who at this very moment was preparing a room for her and the children. She would have to write later and apologize, explain what had happened – that she and Mark had finally found a way forwards – and she would return the monk’s five-pound note. She knew the monk would understand, and she might even take the children one day to meet him – a day’s outing in the school holidays. She was sure they would like to see the monk, and he them.

  ‘So, you approve?’ Mark said again, carefully returning the helmet to its box. ‘You can see why I was so excited?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m so pleased for you. It’s important to have something you really want. To achieve an ambition.’

  She took a few steps towards him. Now what? she thought. How should they progress from here? It would take time, obviously, to rebuild what they had and start again. Hours of talking, possibly with a counsellor. She’d always thought that if they ever reached this point they should seek the help of a professional. Someone who could guide them through the pitfalls of their relationship and steer them to a better understanding. She wondered if she should be the one to suggest it, for men didn’t immediately think of counselling, did they? A Radio 4 programme she’d once listened to about Relate, the marriage guidance service, had said as much. In over ninety percent of referrals it said, it was the woman who made that first call. Their partners and husbands happily attended the counselling sessions, but hardly ever initiated the first appointment.

  Mark turned to face her, suit and boots still on. ‘I’m glad you like it,’ he said. ‘I knew you would want to share it with me as soon as possible.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do like it. I’m so pleased for you. The children will be too, particularly James, he loves motorbikes. Shall I fetch them?’

  ‘In a minute.’ He paused. ‘So, you really do approve?’ ‘Oh, yes, I do, Mark, really.’

  ‘And you can see why I wanted to share it with you?’

  ‘Yes. I’m so pleased you did. We …’ She wrung her hands together and searched for the right words, the ones that would acknowledge what they had been through, and lead them forwards to a counsellor. She would suggest it now, while there was just the two of them, before the evening took over and she was busy with the children, and Mark with his new bike. ‘Mark? I’ve been thinking—’ she began.

  ‘So, you can imagine …’ he said interrupting her, his voice slightly dropping, ‘you can imagine how disappointed I was when I came home and found you weren’t here.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have gone if I had known. But it was pleasant earlier. I thought a walk would do me good.’

  ‘And did it?’ he said, his eyes widening. ‘Did it do you good?’

  ‘No, I got wet.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry. It was silly of me to go.’

  She looked at him and he looked back. There was a silence that seemed to stretch the length of the garage, broken only by the odd cracking of the polythene as it yawned and stretched. And in that silence, she felt the first few grains of sand shift, as the previously firm ground lost some of its stability and the tide began to turn. Yet the surface appeared to remain calm like a millpond, with no ripples.

  ‘I’d better make sure the children have changed out of their wet things,’ Aisha said. ‘Then I’ll make us dinner and you can tell me more about the bike.’ She smiled and began walking towards the door, instinctively putting as much distance as possible between them. One step. Two steps. Then the first wave crashed as the sand was sucked from beneath her feet, and his voice echoed around the ceiling and bounced off the walls.

  ‘So, where the fuck were you all afternoon?’

  He was behind her, moving in closer, taking up the ground. Only a couple of steps to the door, not that far, not that far at all. But she didn’t make it. He sprang like a lion felling its prey, landed on her back and brought her down. Knees first, then her elbows and face, bouncing off the rough concrete floor. Aisha heard a cry escape from her throat and strangulate as the air was cut off. Flat down on the floor, head pressed sideways, her cheek grating on the dry concrete. Her mouth began to fill with blood as his fists pummelled her back, her head, shoulders, neck, anywhere he could find.

  ‘You bitch! Whore! Lie to me, would you! I’ll teach you!’

  She tried to cry out, but she was cut short by the blows raining down on her neck and head. He was going to kill her this time for sure. She knew she couldn’t survive this. The force of the blows, their ferocity … he was going to smash her to pulp on the hard concrete floor.

  And perhaps it was this realization, or some residue of courage that had stayed with her from her conversation with the monk, or her anger at the way she’d allowed herself to believe, or maybe it was Sarah’s hysterical cry of ‘Mum!’ from outside the door, but strength rose within her as it never had before and Aisha began to struggle and fight back. She thrashed her arms, kicked her legs, twisted and turned for all she was worth, trying to dislodge him from her back.

  ‘Bitch! Whore! I’ll teach you to lie to me, you fucking cow!’

  Sitting astride her legs, he tried to grab her flaying arms and pin them to her sides. But the more he tried to restrain her, the more her anger and strength grew. She struggled and fought back, fighting for her life. A life that she finally realized was a life worth fighting for. Not only for her sake, but for that of the children.

  ‘Mum!’ Sarah shrieked again, and opening the door to the kitchen, screamed.

  She heard James sobbing. ‘Dad, stop! Stop! Dad!’ he begged.

  With a sudden burst of strength, she arched her spine, threw herself backwards, and managed to force him off. He was beside her now, shouting in her face, still trying to grab her arms. With a second burst of strength, she brought up one knee, sharp and hard, straight into his groin. He let out a cry like she’d never heard before, and his grip momentarily relaxed. She seized the moment, and summoning all her strength, hurled herself towards the kitchen door.

  ‘Out now!’ she yelled to the children.

  ‘Run, Mummy, run!’ Sarah screamed.

  Aisha raced through the interconnecting door and then slammed it shut. She turned the key. ‘Quick! Out the front, go now! Run!’

  Sarah grabbed James as Mark landed with a thud on the other side of the door. ‘You bitch. Wait till I get hold of you.’ His fists pounded the wood.

  She cupped her nose to stem the blood and raced after the children – out of the kitchen and through the lounge. They only had a few seconds before he would go to the front of the garage and release the up-and-over door. Then he would kill her without
a doubt. She saw Mark’s keys on the hall table and grabbed them. She threw open the front door. The children hesitated.

  ‘Get in his car. Now!’ she screamed, pushing Sarah and James out through the porch. Blood dripped from her nose and she tried to pinch it as they ran down the short path and onto the pavement. She pressed the fob to the car and mercifully the locks flew up. She tore round to the driver’s door as Sarah bundled James into the back, and slammed the door. Left hand over her nose to stem the blood, she jabbed the key into the ignition with her right hand.

  ‘Please, dear God, let it start,’ she breathed.

  The key turned and the engine fired, just as the garage door began to rise.

  ‘He’s coming! He’s coming! the children shrieked hysterically.

  Into first gear, she released the handbrake, at the same time pushing the accelerator down hard. The tyres screeched and they shot forwards, leaving Mark on the drive shouting her name.

  Chapter Twenty

  Down to the end of the road, Aisha stopped the car at the T-junction and peered at the dashboard. She found the light switch, clicked it on, and the road ahead lit up. Grappling with the steering column, she found the wiper arm and pushed it to the top. The wipers flicked furiously and the windscreen cleared.

  ‘Fasten your seat belts,’ she shouted to the children as she extended her own.

  She inched the car forwards, up to the white line, and paused. She checked in the rear-view mirror and saw the road behind was clear. Her foot hovered above the accelerator pedal as she waited for a gap in the traffic to turn right. The cars were relentless, non-stop in both directions. She wanted to turn right and then go up the High Street, and out towards the M25. She knew where to join the motorway, and it would be easier than trying to find her way through the country roads in the dark: easier and safer.

  She drew the back of her hand across her nose and sniffed; she could feel the congealing blood settle in the back of her throat. She checked the rear-view mirror again; a white van drew up behind obscuring her view. Then she checked the wing mirrors and the road. More traffic, it was endless. Finally a gap seemed to be appearing in the headlamps further up, in both directions. Was it big enough? She wasn’t sure. She waited, hands clenching the wheel, pulse soaring, scanning the road both ways. It was difficult to judge the approaching space in the dark and rain, and with so many cars, and so long since she’d driven. Touching the accelerator, she took up the slack on the clutch, then, pressing her right foot down, seized the gap in the traffic. The car lurched, but thankfully didn’t stall. She changed up into second, then third, another jolt, but she was driving; incredible after all these years. And more incredible – they’d got away!