by John Hanley
Rachel rarely mentioned her parents, though I knew the relationship was strained. I’d never seen them at the club, even though it was a mere hundred yards from their house.
I couldn’t see any movement in her room. Of course, she could be clearing up after dinner or helping her mother in any number of household chores. She might even be reading the Evening Post to her father, whose eyesight was deteriorating. This much she had told me of her daily routine. She also told me her father refused to have the new fangled electricity in his house and had never been to the cinema, believing it to be the invention of the Devil. He seemed to have a limited sense of humour and I didn’t feel like testing it by knocking on his door at eight-thirty in the evening. The talk would have to wait.
I blipped the throttle, startling myself as the exhaust note bounced off the pink granite. Feeling guilty, I engaged gear and started to ride off. A quick glance and I caught a shadow moving behind the curtains in her room. I shrugged, defeated, opened the throttle in a farewell salvo and charged towards the sea.
I sped round the block, revelling in the snarl of the twin exhaust pipes as I accelerated out of corners. I did another circuit of the town but it was deserted, just the shop windows to impress. I felt drawn back to Havre des Pas.
A few minutes later, I passed the ornate Ommaroo Hotel, pulled up outside the club and parked up on the wide pavement at the top of the bridge. The gate was closed and locked. I sat there watching the tide, on the turn now. Seagulls screeched as an old woman emptied her bag of crusts onto the beach by the seawall, where the shadows were creeping in with the tide. How different it was when the club had a dance evening and the terraces thronged with life. You could hear the band for miles, when the tide was up. There would be an aquatic show soon, the climax of which would be the torchlight parade around the quarter-mile circumference of the pool, flickering flames shining off the black water. Thanks to Brewster, I would still have my chance in the spotlight on Thursday, in the swimming match against the Royal Navy. A good opportunity to achieve the qualifying time I needed for selection for the Southern Counties.
What I needed now, apart from divine guidance on my love life, was some sleep. I’d missed training with Miko this morning because of the destroyer. Whether I slept or not, I would have to turn up at seven o’clock tomorrow or I’d never find the speed I needed.
I was contemplating how to shave a few more tenths of a second off my somersault turn when a black blur shot across the beach below me. The little cocker spaniel was chasing a stick and scurried as though the fires of hell were scorching its tail. It looked familiar as it ploughed to a halt in the soft sand and snatched the bleached twig. It lifted its head and accelerated towards its master, tail wagging at the successful retrieval. Mine wagged too as I recognised Rachel bending now to take the gift from little Bobby’s mouth. She glanced up, saw me, smiled and started to walk towards the wall.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ she called as she climbed the granite steps, Bobby trailing behind. ‘That’s not your bike, is it?’
‘No, it’s Uncle Fred’s, he’s lent it to me to get home as I missed the bus. We did a lot of talking after you left.’
‘Not about me, I hope?’ She look worried as she approached.
‘No, don’t fret. We discussed war, the last, the next, and religion.’ I wondered if Malita had ever said anything to her.
She was in front of me now, the spaniel panting by her leg, a shy smile on her face. Her upper body was illuminated by the fading sun, almost cutting her in half. She was wearing an old cardigan and tweed skirt, her bare legs attractively shaped in high-heeled sandals. She towered over me as I sat on the low saddle.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I think so, why?’
‘Well you look rather confused, sad even.’
If she’d listened to Fred and Malita, she’d look sad as well but it wasn’t something I wanted to share with her. ‘It’s been a strange day.’
She prodded the front wheel with her toe. ‘Is this a noisy bike?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, about twenty minutes ago I heard this throbbing sound outside my house and then this almighty roar. I just caught a glimpse of a motor-bike speeding down the road – it wasn’t you by any chance?’
I felt my cheeks redden. ‘It might have been.’ She was playing with me.
‘Was it?’
I held my hands up in surrender. ‘I confess, it was I and my trusty steed – Boadicea.’
‘That’s a dramatic name. Did you christen her?’
‘No it was Fred. He claims the previous owner called her George VII but he felt she was female so he’s started a new dynasty.’
‘And is she?’
‘What?’
‘Female?’
My cheeks were burning again.
She smiled. ‘After all, you’re sitting in a good place to know.’
Even Bobby was looking up at me, waiting for an answer.
‘I think she might be but perhaps,’ I hesitated. ‘I need a second opinion.’
She laughed, bent over, picked up the spaniel and placed him on the pillion seat. ‘Well what do you think, Bobby? Is this bike female?’
‘I was rather hoping you would give me the opinion.’
She arched her eyebrows. ‘How bold of you. Do nice girls sit on little seats like that?’ She pointed at the small leather pillion, an afterthought on such a sleek machine. ‘Where would I hold on?’
The answer was obvious. I felt my stomach turn hollow. We’d just crossed an invisible barrier. Her slender figure focused on me, yet was distant and teasing at the same time. More riddles. I wanted to feel her weight on the saddle behind me, her long fingers clutching my waist as I fed the power through the rear wheel and flung us into the distance.
‘Well there’s one way to find out but –’
A car screeched to a halt in the road alongside us. Startled, we turned as Caroline’s Bugatti settled on its springs. She swung her door open and thrust herself onto the pavement. Ignoring us, she strode to the boot and heaved it open. Emerging with a length of towrope, she marched towards us. She stopped and looked down at me. Her expression was inscrutable. Anger, betrayal? What thoughts were pounding away in there.
She held the rope out in front of Rachel. ‘Here, you skinny bitch. Either tie yourself to him with it, or hang yourself.’ Dropping the rope at Rachel’s feet, she turned back to the car, slid into the seat, gunned the engine and snarled away. Through the cloud of exhaust, we could see that she was not alone. Kohler turned and waved his arm in mock salute. Bobby barked.
Rachel and I looked at each other open-mouthed, then at the rope. As we looked up, our eyes met and we started to giggle; quietly at first, in disbelief. This quickly turned to relief, and then to uncontrolled amusement. Caroline was way beyond being a puzzle. At times like this, she seemed insane. If Caroline and I were finished, as her daft theatrical response and closeness to Kohler would seem to confirm, why should she confront Rachel in such an over-dramatic fashion?
Rachel touched my arm. ‘Don’t even try to work it out, Jack. Even Caroline doesn’t know why she acts like she does.’ She withdrew her hand. ‘Anyway, I suppose I had better take Bobby home.’ She moved away, tugging the spaniel with her.
‘Wait, Rachel.’ Still trapped on the saddle, I couldn’t reach out to her with my hands but the pleading was clear in my voice. ‘Please, wait.’
She stopped and turned back, her face completely in shadow now.
‘I still want you to try the pillion. Come on, be a sport, come for a ride. It won’t be long, just around the block. Come on. I need your company. I want to be with you.’ There, I’d said it, committed myself.
She stared at me for a long moment. ‘No. It’s too dangerous. I’ve never been on a motorbike before. What if I fall off?’
‘You won’t.’ I reached behind my neck and unclipped the chain. I held it out and the small silver charm danced in the fading sun.
‘My Saint Christopher, patron saint of travellers. Here, wear it.’
Shock turned into a shy smile. ‘I can’t take that, Jack, it’s your lucky charm. I bet your mother gave it to you.’ She giggled.
‘Please wear it, and please come with me.’
She took a deep breath and shut her eyes as if holding an internal debate with whatever demons had spooked her. She opened them slowly, reached out for the chain and nodded. ‘Alright. I’ll take Bobby home, put on some slacks and shoes, then come back to you in five minutes.’ She held my gaze. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’ Then she turned and hauled Bobby across the road and ran up the street.
I sat, dazed, my stomach somersaulting like a high diver plunging into the dense water below. Perhaps I should have taken Boadicea for that speed run instead – at least her needs were simple.
10
Five minutes dragged into ten, then fifteen. I could have swum from the Dicq Rock to Green Street slip and back while waiting. By the time she returned, it felt as though I’d swum around the island.
She’d changed into black tailored slacks and a thick woollen jumper, sensible flat shoes and white socks. She had tied a bright red silk scarf round her chestnut hair and looked better prepared for a brisk ride than I felt in my khaki battledress.
She moved gracefully to the handlebars and took my face in both her hands. ‘You will be very careful, won’t you?’
‘Don’t worry.’
‘No violent movements, no hard braking and definitely no speeding. Understand?’ She tilted my face up to hers revealing that she had spent her “five” minutes applying a little lipstick and some eye shadow.
‘Trust me, I’m a fighter pilot.’ I prodded Boadicea back into life.
She chuckled, moved round behind me and swung her left leg over the saddle. I felt the bike jiggle on its sprung frame and waited for her to find the only hand holds available: around my waist. Her touch was tentative as she held the rough serge in both hands.
I turned my head to her. ‘Better hold tighter until we get balanced.’
She poked me in the ribs, shuffled closer, slipped her hands under the jacket and gripped my sides.
‘Ready?’
She nodded her chin into my shoulder.
‘We’ll ride to Gorey. Lean with me when we turn.’
I felt her stiffen in fright.
‘It’s okay. We’ll only be going slowly.’
I felt her trembling as she moved closer, almost hugging me now. I released the brake and let out the clutch. We wobbled alarmingly. Fred had warned me that Boadicea could be skittish and, with the extra weight over the rear wheel, the front was now very light. I would have to be extra careful.
Once past the Dicq, I accelerated smoothly up to fifty miles per hour along the coast road, the exhaust note rippling along behind. Rachel shifted forward and soon her arms encircled my waist as she pressed into me.
I risked a glance behind and saw that her eyes were still squeezed closed.
‘Open your eyes. Enjoy the moment!’ I screamed above the wind.
Past Greve D’Azette, Boadicea cantered along towards the dusk. She snuggled closer and shouted in my ear. ‘This is fun, but slow down so I can look.’
I eased back and felt her cheek on my neck as she turned her head to look at the sea. I felt warmth glowing inside me even as the cold air dissolved my eyes and squeezed tears down my cheeks. I blinked and realised I would have to put on the goggles if we were to ride much further. Perhaps this was far enough. I slowed to a walking pace then turned smoothly right, off the main road and onto the slipway at Green Island. I coasted to a halt and splayed my feet to stabilise the machine and its passenger. One blip and the engine coughed into silence. Above the ticking of the cooling metal, I could hear Rachel tunelessly singing to herself.
‘Slide off and I’ll park up.’
She released her grip and swung herself off the pillion while I pulled Boadicea up onto her stand.
‘That was quite frightening, but quite amazing as well.’
She stood waiting as I clambered off then darted down the slip towards the beach.
I caught up with her at the end of the granite outfall and stood behind her. She was trembling again. I hesitated then slipped my left arm around her waist and felt her shivering under her jumper. ‘Come on. Let’s sit in the bus shelter and watch the sun go down.’
I took her hand and led her up the slipway and across to the wooden shelter. We sat on the bench and turned towards the west as the sun sank over the pool in the distance. We’d both swum there from the slipway the previous summer, a mile and a quarter in a straight line, forty minutes in the chilly water.
We stared in silence, still holding hands.
Her grip was firm but soft and I felt her fingers moving slowly against mine.
I swapped hands so that I could slip my left arm around her shoulder and pull her into me. She didn’t resist but didn’t turn her face to me either. The excuse for closeness had gone now we weren’t on the bike. I knew she was worried about something important. She was obviously vulnerable. How to be receptive but not romantic? I was too used to Caroline and our barrier-free physical relationship.
I really cared for Rachel. She had asked me not to hurt her, but how should I respond if she did cross the divide? I was determined not to cross it myself. I just had to keep my body under control. Perhaps talking would help.
‘A penny for them?’ I tried to make my voice light.
She sighed. ‘Jack, you are so sweet and I am so fond of you –’
‘But?’
She eased her hand out of mine and turned her face towards me. Her eyes reflected the soft yellow rays of the sinking sun, though her expression was guarded. ‘But you know so little about me. And there’s Caroline to consider.’
‘Caroline and I are finished.’
‘You know that’s not true. You’ve had a difficult day but she’s still very keen on you –’
‘What? After that exhibition?’
‘Yes, especially after that exhibition.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t think you really understand, do you?’
I tried to keep the sudden disappointment off my face.
She spotted it. ‘Don’t be sad. It’s just not the right time, yet.’
I tried to speak but she lifted her mouth and touched her lips gently to mine, brushed them tenderly then slid them onto my cheek before whispering in my ear.
‘It’s not right. We can’t, until you…’
‘Yes?’
‘Until you both believe it’s over.’ She hugged me and dropped her head into my neck.
Holding back now was the hardest thing I had ever done. Her brief kiss had melted something, released an emotion I didn’t understand. I wanted to kiss her again but I kept my head up and held her tightly. I let her burrow into me, felt her body heave, as her sobbing increased.
Embarrassed, I clung on helpless, uncertain what to say or do. I realised that there was nothing to be said. All I could do was comfort her and so I held her and rubbed her back while she cried in my arms.
I waited for what seemed longer than that Green Island swim until she had exhausted her tears. The dusk settled like a blanket around us and still I waited. She couldn’t be this upset about Caroline, could she?
Eventually she raised her head and I was ready with my handkerchief.
‘A gentleman to the end.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘I’m so sorry, Jack. I should have kept it inside. You didn’t deserve that. It’s not fair.’ She blew her nose and sniffled, clutching the piece of cotton in her hands.
‘It’s me who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed –’
‘No, Jack, this isn’t about you.’ She shook her head and splattered the remaining tears over her wrists. She took more deep breaths and looked away towards the sun’s final pink ribbon, which still streaked the western sky. She slumped back into me and rested her cheek against mine. ‘It’s been a strange day, for both of us.’
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
She kissed my cheek. ‘Of course I do but I don’t know if I’m ready yet. It’s too soon. I have to tell someone and I want it to be you but it’s still too painful.’
I wanted to know this secret, even though I realised that it was not about me. It was breaking her heart but I couldn’t push, would have to wait. I pulled her closer and enveloped her in my arms. ‘I think I understand. I can wait until you are ready –’
Suddenly she pulled away, sat upright and turned to look directly at me. ‘Jack, you are too good to be true at times.’ Her tone had changed and she was almost fierce with me. ‘You are easy prey. I don’t want to be mean about Caroline but, despite what she believes, this is not a competition. You are not a prize. You have to be yourself, but first you have to know who you are. When you’ve worked that out then we can be…’ her voice tailed off.
‘Friends, or?’ I tried to finish her sentence but my voice faltered.
She smiled. ‘Only time will tell.’ She squeezed my hands. ‘Please take me home now. Slowly.’
11
She seemed more relaxed on the ride back, leaning into me, her arms tight around my waist as we cruised through the velvet night, the feeble Lucas headlight illuminating little more than the mudguard on the front wheel. I could feel the vibrations as she hummed tunelessly into my back. As we reached Havre des Pas, she began to tense up and pull me back towards her.
I turned into Roseville Street but she whispered urgently, ‘Stop. Don’t take me any further.’
I pulled up and let the engine idle. It burbled, almost soothingly.
She dismounted. ‘I don’t want to go home. I can’t face them yet.’ She sounded worried, almost frightened. She rested her hands on my shoulders and pressed her forehead into mine. ‘Can we walk for a bit?’
I tried to focus on her eyes but they were too close. What was troubling her? Was it really about me not knowing myself, or was she also struggling for an identity? I couldn’t abandon her now but I couldn’t abandon Boadicea either.