Tandem

by Alex Morgan

  Adult Paula took a step back as if to admit defeat and the man broke into a triumphant grin, revealing his missing front tooth.

  It had been three a.m. when she’d switched on the bedside light with a trembling hand. Sitting up, she’d pulled the duvet tightly around her. Why was Bill Thompson so pleased to have stopped her following her younger self?

  Unable to get back to sleep, she’d made a cup of tea and tried to concentrate on a novel, but the question kept coming back: what was he doing in her dream? It was after seven when she finally began to nod off. Her last automatic act as sleep reclaimed her was to stretch out and switch off the alarm.

  Showered and dressed, Paula returned to the kitchen to find Sanders busily chopping vegetables. “Salad for the picnic,” he said, looking up brightly. “It’s a long walk to Westwick, even if we get the bus back.”

  “Assuming we get that far. No Bovis today?” Paula asked, still half asleep.

  “At my nan’s,” Sanders replied, handing her a mug of coffee so strong it could have kept her awake all week.

  She dropped a slice of bread into the toaster and sat down at the table. “Is she getting on all right with her new teeth?”

  “I think they’re a bit sore ‘cos she was really grumpy. When I said that guy at the farm was asking after her and Mum, she nearly bit my head off.”

  Sanders rubbed his forehead, leaving tomato seeds in his fringe. “She said, ‘If I hear you’ve been there again, I’ll skelp your arse.’”

  “I thought you said she took you there before?”

  “I know, but she gets like that sometimes. Mum says she’s just crabby and that’s where she gets it from. Sometimes she says I talk so much it makes her brain swell and if I don’t stop it’ll be the death of her.”

  “Who, your mum or your nan?”

  “My nan. Well, both of them.”

  Paula suppressed a smile. “I know how they feel.”

  He scowled. “Why are grownups always cross? Mum says it’s because they know their time’s running out and they don’t want to waste it putting up with things that irritate them.”

  “I’m sure that’s true, but your mum’s not that old is she?”

  “She is. She’s twenty-nine in September.” He returned to chopping vegetables and, after a pause, spoke so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “I was thinking I might go to the gala as Sandra.”

  “What did you say?” she queried.

  “The gala – I think they call it a fete in England.”

  She glanced at him to see if he was joking. He didn’t look up, just carried on piling salad ingredients into two Tupperware boxes. She watched his small hands organising cucumber, radishes and tomatoes – they were almost like a girl’s, arranging the slices. But putting a salad together was one thing, going to the village fete dressed as a girl was quite another.

  “Is that wise, do you think?” she asked. “Won’t the whole village be there?” She knew how cruel people could be, children in particular, especially when they were running about hyped up on sugary junk food.

  When Sanders didn’t respond, she asked, “What does your psychologist think?”

  He studied his feet. “I haven’t told her. But I’ve got to try sometime.” There was a defiance to his voice that took Paula by surprise. “Whatever I decide, people are gonna be horrible about it, so why not start now and get it over with?”

  Paula thought for an awful moment that he was going to cry, but he didn’t. He just clipped the lids onto the boxes a little more fiercely than was necessary, and stood there with his arms wrapped round them as if they were the only things left he could depend on.

  Flying to the moon

  When her mum had announced they were going back to Scotland, to the seaside, for their summer holiday, Paula’s excitement had lasted precisely as long as it took for her to add that Pete wasn’t coming. They were going to spend a whole three weeks in a house by the beach across the water from where they used to live in Edinburgh, and she could play on the sand and go swimming in the sea every day – without Pete. He was going camping in France with Ollie and his parents.

  “Doesn’t Pete want to come to the seaside with me?” Paula asked incredulously.

  They had never spent longer than a day apart. They sat side-by-side at school and played with the same group of friends. If one fell out with someone, they both did. If one decided apple juice was nicer than orange, that was all they both wanted to drink. If one refused to eat peas or decided Brussels sprouts made them sick, neither would touch them. When one was ill and had to stay at home, whether it was a tummy bug, a sore throat or chickenpox, within hours the other was sweating and writhing in agony. They were like two halves of the same person, utterly unable to function alone. As the “big twin”, Paula took it upon herself to tease and scold him, but they never disagreed or fell out like other brothers and sisters. They were Paula and Pete, Pete ‘n’ Paula. Always had been and always would be.

  “Of course he would want to, darling, if Ollie’s family hadn’t asked him to go away with them,” her mum said stroking her hair. “Ollie is Pete’s friend. Even twins don’t have to spend all their time together. Going on holiday with Ollie doesn’t mean Pete doesn’t care about you. You know Ollie doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. Don’t you think it was kind of Pete to agree to go and miss the fun of being with you, just so Ollie could have someone to play with? I think you should be very proud of your brother for having such a good heart. You have all the rest of the year together. You can spare him for a few weeks.”

  “Pete’s my little twin. That’s more important than a best friend,” Paula raged. Her lip trembled. “He shouldn’t be kind to anyone else. I wouldn’t go with someone else and leave him on his own. I would ask him to come or I wouldn’t go.”

  Her mum smiled. “Even if you were doing something as exciting as going camping in France, and there wasn’t room for another person in the car or the tent?”

  Paula shook her head firmly. “Even if I was going to the Moon.”

  “There definitely wouldn’t be room for an extra person in a space rocket and you wouldn’t want to miss out on that would you?”

  “I’d make the driver stay behind.”

  “I think a rocket has a pilot not a driver, and you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without him.”

  “Pete could drive.”

  Her mum hugged her and spoke softly. “You’re going to have to manage without him one day. What about when you’re grown up and have a boyfriend? You won’t want your brother around all the time then.”

  “I’m never going to have a boyfriend. Pete and me are going to live together. We’ve agreed.”

  Her mum smiled again. “I’m going to remind you about that when you’re a pair of moody teenagers with spots and greasy hair who can’t stand the sight of each other. Anyway, you’ll have a great time at the seaside. There’ll be lots of other children your age, so you’ll have plenty of new friends to play with.”

  “What about our birthday?”

  “We’ll celebrate yours in Craskferry and Pete will have his in France. It’ll be lots of fun.”

  Paula sniffed and rubbed her eyes.

  “Don’t be a baby about it now,” her mum chided. “I want you to show your brother and everyone else how grown up you are by not making a fuss. You can do that can’t you, darling?”

  Defeated, Paula could only nod. She felt very small and frightened at the thought of being without Pete for such a long time, but she desperately wanted to be a big girl and impressing him mattered more than anything.

  “That’s a good girl. We’re all going to have a lovely time.”

  Paula sat on the beach steps thinking about that day as she looked out across Craskferry Bay, remembering how miserable she had been at the prospect of surviving without Pete for three weeks. She could never have imagined it would one day be a lifetime. She had spent the past week trying not to think about it; distracting herself by reading in the sun
or exploring the local coast and countryside on foot or by bus with Sanders. She had kept her promise not to raise the subject of his dilemma and he, in return, had provided his usual stream of cheerful nonsense to divert her from her thoughts.

  She jumped when Mrs McIntyre opened the gate behind her.

  “There’s a man at the front door for you.”

  “Sorry?” she said startled.

  “A man, at the front door.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  Her landlady turned to walk back up the garden. “He didnae say.”

  The hall was gloomy after the bright sunshine outside, and Paula was at the door before she could see who was standing on the step.

  “Oh, babe, I was beginning to despair of ever seeing you again.”

  Paula didn’t move. “Ollie,” she said uncertainly. “How did you find me?”

  He looked crestfallen. “It wasn’t that difficult once I got here. You can’t last more than a couple of days without a newspaper, so I guessed the one person certain to know where you’d be was the newsagent.”

  “And he told you. He’s a very helpful man.”

  Ollie ignored her sarcastic tone. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “Of course.” She tried to sound normal, but all she wanted to do was scream.

  Scream at her mum for betraying her like this. She knew she didn’t want to see Ollie and yet she had gone ahead and told him she was in Craskferry. Scream at Renton for being so free and easy with his customers’ addresses. Sanders was right not to like the bloody man. What business did he have telling everyone and anyone people’s whereabouts? Scream at Ollie for refusing to take no for an answer, and scream at herself for everything – for pushing him away when he didn’t deserve it, for cheating on him with Andy when he certainly didn’t deserve that, for not having the grace to give him a proper welcome when he had been so decent about her running away. He was in horrible pain, yet he had driven hundreds of miles simply because he cared about her – and all she felt was irritated. When had she turned into such a bitch?

  Paula managed to get something approximating a smile onto her face. “Come in.” She searched for something else to say. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving and knackered.”

  She led him through to the kitchen. “I’ll make us some supper then. Pasta all right?”

  “Brilliant. I’m so hungry I could eat grass. I brought your favourite.” He pulled a bottle of rosé out of his sports bag.

  “Oh, Ollie, you’re too good to me. I don’t deserve you.” She gave him a quick hug, pulling away to put the bottle in the fridge before he could reciprocate.

  “Nonsense. You …”

  “Don’t.” She shook her head. “Please don’t. I won’t be able to cope if you’re nice to me. I’ve been so awful to you.”

  Turning to gather ingredients and utensils, she felt his eyes on her back. “Paula …”

  “How was the journey?” she asked before he could say anything more.

  He sighed. “The traffic on the A1 was horrible. Every man and his dog was on the road today.”

  “The weather’s been so good everyone wants to get away from London.” The weather? Was that the best she could do? She tried again. “You’re looking well.” Pathetic. They were talking like strangers, but it was all she could manage.

  “You look fabulous,” Ollie countered.

  “Everyone else seems to think I look like a wreck.”

  “They’re all blind. You look really fit and that tan suits you.”

  “I’ve been out in the sun a lot.”

  “Maybe that’s what you needed – time to relax. Sometimes it’s good to take a break from everything. And your hair’s amazing. It’s so different, you almost don’t look like you anymore.”

  She met his gaze for the first time since he’d arrived. “I’m not me anymore. I want to be different, someone else.”

  “Is it helping?” he asked softly.

  “Not really. I still feel like shit. I don’t know who I am anymore or what’s happening to me, and it’s got nothing to do with a haircut and some blonde dye.” She was virtually shouting at him. “I don’t know what I’m going to say or do from one minute to the next.”

  She waited for a response but he merely nodded.

  “Half the time I feel like I’m outside of myself looking in.” Her voice was quieter now. “It’s like watching a complete stranger.”

  Ollie held out his arms again. “Come here.”

  Paula stepped into his embrace and this time she didn’t pull away.

  He buried his face in her hair. “What are we going to do with you?”

  She leant her head against his chest. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I just don’t know.”

  A slammer too many

  At first Paula and Pete had been just big sister and little brother, born less than a year apart. Then, aged seven and six, thanks to their dad’s invention of Pete’s extra-special extra summer birthday, they became twins. Part of the reason Paula insisted on being included in the plan was that it would get her an extra birthday that year. As she hoped, she got a second lot of presents in July, and Pete was so pleased to have been promoted from little brother to twin that he didn’t point out she had already had plenty in January.

  After that, they both had all their cards and presents in July. People who didn’t know any better assumed they were real twins, and Paula and Pete rarely corrected them.

  The year they had turned five, they were living in Scotland, where being born in the same calendar year meant they started primary one together, so they were always in the same class anyway. They did absolutely everything together: walked to school side by side, sat at neighbouring desks, played with the same friends at break, and spent every evening and weekend in each other’s company. They were a unit; they didn’t need anyone else. That was why Ollie’s arrival in their lives was such a shock for Paula.

  On their first day at their new primary school in London, she and Pete sat together as usual. Paula’s desk was at the end of the row, so she didn’t have another neighbour. She didn’t care, as she felt no great need to get to know the other children. Pete was the only person who mattered. But he had an empty desk beside him. For the first few days no one sat there. Then, towards the end of the week, another new boy arrived. The teacher said his name was Ollie and placed him at the empty desk. From that moment onwards, he attached himself to Pete, whispering to him, telling him jokes and helping him with his schoolwork. When their dad bought them their first bikes, Ollie pestered his parents until he got one too and they could all cycle the local streets together.

  Whatever she and Pete did, Ollie did too, and she told herself she didn’t mind. Pete liked him and that meant it was okay. She had made some friends of her own by now, reluctantly admitting to herself that it was fun to have other girls to share things with, but Pete – and with him Ollie – came first for her. They were The Three Musketeers; their motto was “All for one and one for all”.

  Her desire to please Pete made her conceal how upset she was when he chose to go to France with Ollie rather than to Craskferry with her, and when they were together again at the end of the three weeks, she quickly forgot what it was like to be without him. Their parents must have realised how deeply the separation affected her though, because from then on until they left school, family holidays were exactly that: Mum and Dad, Paula and Pete.

  When they got their first tandem, Ollie and his solo were never far away and soon they were all entering competitions – Pete and Ollie in the male events, Pete and Paula in the mixed. As adults, people often remarked that they could be triplets, and not just because of their matching kit and Pete and Ollie’s identical cyclists’ build of powerful legs, lean torsos and slim arms. Pete was virtually the same height as Paula, and Ollie was only a couple of centimetres taller. Pete and Ollie even gelled and spiked the top of their short brown hair to match. At first it had annoyed Paula, made her fe
el as if they were turning into the twins and she was the extra one. But as the wins mounted up, they all agreed it was a lucky cut, and they never changed it. Like it or not, Paula knew that if she didn’t want to lose Pete, she had to accept Ollie – there was simply no alternative.

  They all went to the same university, waded through mud and warm beer at festivals together in vacations, lived in the same house when they graduated, and then, when Paula and Pete’s dad slipped a disc and had to step down from his role as cycling coach, Ollie took that over too. He was a natural, with an instinctive understanding of when to praise and encourage, when to berate or cajole, and that brought the three of them even closer.

  They were a good-looking trio with plenty of friends, and though both Pete and Ollie had girlfriends, and Paula had her share of boyfriends, their relationships were never serious. No outsider could claim a permanent place in their gang.

  And then, three months before Pete died, things changed forever. It was March, the weekend of Ollie’s thirtieth. He and Pete were competing in an event in Manchester and Paula went along to cheer them on. To mark his birthday, Ollie treated them to a night in a swanky boutique hotel instead of the usual nylon carpeted B&B.

  The men won their races – there was never any doubt they would – and the three of them hit the town for a double celebration. It was very late when they made it back to the hotel.

  “Look,” Ollie pointed out delightedly as they crossed the foyer. “The bar’s still open. Let’s have one for the road.”

  “Shouldn’t that be one for the lift?” Paula queried.

  “Good spot. One for the lift then.”

  “Oh no, this is one fine mess you’ll have to get into without me, Laurel and Hardy,” Pete said. “My drinking shoes are full. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He gave them a little wave and headed unsteadily towards the lifts.

  Ollie offered Paula his arm. “You would make an old man very happy, Miss Tyndall, if you would accompany him for a final refreshment on this most special of nights.”

  “Honoured and delighted, sir,” she replied and linked her arm into his.