Tandem

by Alex Morgan

  Paula closed her eyes and tried to think more clearly. She had woken up achy and nauseous from all the wine at the barbecue, and her head was pounding so hard she could barely see. She knew her refusal didn’t make sense and she wanted to explain. But how?

  “I didn’t bring it to ride,” she said finally. “I just needed to have it with me.”

  “But you said you were trying to get away from everything linked with Pete.”

  “I know it seems contradictory,” she floundered, “but a lot of things feel contradictory right now.”

  “What if we went out on solos then?” he offered. “One of your new friends might have one I could borrow.”

  “I should really see Sanders. I need to sort things out with him.”

  “Great, so now you’re a self-appointed social worker for a twelve-year-old transvestite.”

  “He’s not a transvestite,” Paula snapped. “He’s a boy who’s trying to make an unbearable decision.”

  Ollie softened his tone. “Isn’t spending time with Sanders just a way to avoid facing up to Pete’s death? You can’t run away forever. Sooner or later it’ll catch up with you.”

  Paula knew he meant it kindly, but she wanted, needed with every cell in her body to deny what he was saying. “Suddenly you’re the expert on dealing with bereavement?”

  She hadn’t meant to sound so angry. They had both avoided discussing the previous evening, but her annoyance over the way he had been knocking back beers and his insensitive remarks to Nora about not having children was bubbling just under the surface. He would never admit it, but meeting new people made him nervous, and nerves made him drink too much.

  Ollie shook his head and looked down at the breakfast table. His right foot started to tap, making the table vibrate slightly.

  “Is that what you’ve been doing – facing up to Pete’s death?” She leant in until her face was centimetres from his. “Is that why you wanted us to go to Dan’s party the weekend I left? Why you accepted Terry’s invitation? I don’t call going on with your life as if nothing’s happened dealing with it.”

  Ollie met her gaze. “And you’ve found a better way? I can tell you’re coping really well.”

  She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m coping the best I can.”

  “You’re barely holding it together. And when were you going to tell me you’re thinking of staying here for good?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You told Felice …”

  “I don’t know – I might, I might not. I don’t know what I’m thinking, okay? What the fuck do you expect?” She rose from the table and began pacing the kitchen. “A hit-and-run driver killed my little brother. You tell me how I’m supposed to feel about that. Go on, why don’t you? Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

  “He was my best friend. You’re not the only one suffering.” Ollie spoke quietly. “Pete was the nearest thing I’ll ever have to a brother, but I can’t bring my own life to a complete halt because he’s gone. I have to keep going.”

  He reached out to her, but she pushed him away and continued pacing.

  Ollie sighed. “I go to work each morning and I come home each evening. I go out on my bike and I see our friends. That’s my way of getting through it.”

  “Exactly – your way. Yours not mine.”

  “Your parents are distraught too, but they’re keeping going.”

  “Mum’s so full of pills she rattles, and Dad’s drinking whisky like it’s going out of fashion. You really think that’s keeping going?”

  “They’re doing their best.”

  Paula banged her fist on the table. “And so am I. Why can’t you accept that and leave me alone?”

  “Is everything all right in here?” Mrs McIntyre’s head appeared round the kitchen door.

  “Everything’s fine,” Paula barked.

  Her landlady withdrew and closed the door.

  “Oh, Christ.” Paula sat down and rested her forehead on the table. “She must think I’m the tenant from hell.”

  “Then maybe she’ll give you a refund and you can come home,” Ollie said.

  Paula spoke slowly, emphasising each word. “Did you listen to a thing I just said? I need to be here. I have to do this my way, just as you have to do it yours.”

  Ollie walked round the table and put his arms around her. “Okay, I hear you. We’ll both just do the best we can.”

  Paula nodded, all the fight drained out of her.

  “How about some fresh air?”

  She nodded again.

  “Let’s have a walk on the beach.”

  She took a long breath. “No, you’re right. I was being silly. We should go out on the tandem.”

  “Only if you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  “Let’s visit the donkeys,” she suggested as they approached the turning for the Thompsons’ farm. “They live just along here.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  They rode up the gravel track and propped the bike against a wall by the farmhouse.

  “I’ll see if either Mr Thompson’s about.”

  The door was closed this time, and there was no bell, just a heavy brass knocker in the shape of a ram’s head. Paula rapped twice. A dog barked and a male voice yelled at it to shut up.

  A few seconds later, Bill Thompson opened the door. “Hello, hen.” He smiled at her revealing his missing tooth. “What brings you back so soon?”

  “Is it okay to go down and say hello to the donkeys?”

  “Aye, no problem. Are you on your own? Did you no’ bring your little friend? I was just makin’ a pot o’ tea – you’re welcome to come in for a cup.”

  Before she could reply, Ollie appeared at her shoulder. “She’s not on her own – she brought her big boyfriend.” He put a protective arm around her waist. “Got a problem with that? Want to hit on me too?”

  “Ollie!” Paula exclaimed.

  “I was just offerin’ a cup o’ tea. I didnae mean anythin’ by it,” Bill said quickly.

  Paula took hold of Ollie’s hand. “Come on. We’ll skip the donkeys.” She turned to Bill. “I’m really sorry, Mr Thompson. My friend misunderstood. He didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “You’re all right, hen. No hard feelin’s.”

  When they were riding down the farm road again, Paula said, “What did you have to be like that for?”

  “He was a creep.”

  “He was just being friendly.”

  “And since when was I just your friend?”

  “For God’s sake, Ollie. You’re completely overreacting.”

  He swung them into a left turn, down a road she hadn’t ridden before.

  “Of course, I forgot,” he said. “You’ve got your little friend. Why would you need a boyfriend too?”

  “That’s not fair!” Her words were drowned out by the roar of a large van pulling out to pass them.

  They rounded a corner and found themselves at the top of a steep hill. “Tuck in,” Ollie ordered.

  Paula brought her chin down almost onto her handlebars, drew her elbows into her sides and pulled her knees in as close as the bike’s frame would allow. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the rush of cooling air over the sunburned skin of her arms and legs. As the road began to flatten out, she felt Ollie steer them round a right-hand bend. It seemed to go on forever “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed.

  She opened her eyes. The road ahead was full of sheep. They were going to crash and be dreadfully injured. Was this what it was like for Pete in the last moments of his life – so far into the zone, lost in that place where there was only him and the bike, that maybe he simply didn’t register the red light. And what about the car coming towards him? Did he know in the instant he saw it that he was going to die? Paula felt as if she might pass out.

  Ollie braked sharply. Despite their combined weight, the back of the bike bucked up and out across the tarmac. Instinctively, she pulled her shoes out of the cleats holding
them to the pedals. She lifted off her seat and felt for the ground with her left foot. They skidded to a halt centimetres from the startled flock.

  “That was a close one, PT,” Ollie gasped.

  “Don’t call me that,” Paula snapped. “Don’t you ever call me that.” She clambered off and bent over, hands on knees, as she waited for her heart rate to return to normal.

  “Don’t be so touchy. There’s no harm done.” He laid the bike down on the road and looked around. “They must have escaped from one of the fields. There’s no sign of a shepherd.”

  Paula glared at him. “No harm done? We could have been smashed to bits if we’d come off. We could even have been killed.”

  “Now who’s overreacting? We’re fine, and so’s the tandem.”

  “No thanks to you. You don’t know these roads. You’ve never been on this bike before and you’re not used to riding pilot. You should have been more careful.”

  “I was riding perfectly carefully.”

  She righted the tandem and began wheeling it between the startled sheep. “I should never have agreed to this. I want to go home.”

  “Have it your way.”

  Cycling back in silence, Paula saw herself and Pete on the tandem. It was the summer they turned sixteen and they were riding the coast-to-coast route from Whitehaven in Cumbria to Sunderland.

  She was tugging at the back of her brother’s jersey. “Stop, Pete, stop. That girl’s hurt.”

  He shrugged her off. “Don’t be soft, PT.”

  “But we’ve got to.”

  “Shut up and dig in.”

  Still pedalling, she stretched out her right arm and flapped it up and down to indicate to their dad, who was snailing behind them in the car, that she wanted to stop.

  He pulled alongside and leant towards the open passenger window. “What’s up? You’re looking good.”

  “Paula wants to rescue the girl who toppled into the gutter back there,” Pete panted.

  “Good grief, Paula,” their dad scolded. “Where’s your focus? You’ve got another two miles of this hill. Stop now and you could lose the record.”

  “You go then,” she urged.

  “Someone else’ll see to her. My job’s with you.”

  “But there isn’t anyone else. She might have concussion.”

  “Christ, Paula,” Pete exclaimed. “She’s not our responsibility. People that unfit shouldn’t be riding the C2C.”

  “That’s right,” their dad said. “She’s just tired. There’ll be another car along any minute. They can help her.” He braked and tucked back in behind the tandem.

  “Now get your arse into gear,” Pete hissed.

  Paula drew in a long breath and held it for a second. The centre of her forehead was pounding with blood and fury. What would make you stop? she wanted to scream. If her leg was hanging off? If there was flesh and bone all over the road? Would that be enough? She scrunched up her eyes and shook her head to dislodge the questions she couldn’t afford to answer.

  “Stop squirming,” Pete ordered. “Are you with me?”

  Paula didn’t answer.

  “Are you with me, PT?” he repeated.

  “I’m here,” she said in a tight voice.

  “Then push. We’re going to take this record.”

  Ollie tapped on the bathroom door. “Are you all right in there? I made you a cup of tea but it’s gone cold.”

  Paula resisted the temptation to yell at him to leave her alone; she knew he was doing his best to smooth things over. “I’ll be out in a minute,” she called, turning off the shower.

  He looked up from his paperback when she came into the sitting room in her dressing gown, a towel wrapped round her head. “Do you want some lunch?”

  “I’m not really hungry.” She sat down on the sofa and began rubbing her hair.

  “There’s some kind of fancy dress parade through the village this afternoon. Terry mentioned it last night. He said there’d be stalls and games and all sorts of stuff going on.”

  “It’s gala day,” she said without enthusiasm.

  “It might be a laugh to go along.”

  The doorbell saved her from having to reply. Ollie got to his feet.

  “I wouldn’t bother,” Paula said. “It’ll be for Mrs McIntyre.”

  “She went out while you were in the shower, so we’d better answer it.” He went into the hall. “It’s Sanders,” he called from the front door, making no effort to keep the annoyance from his voice.

  Paula draped the towel round her neck, pushed her damp hair off her face and went out. Sanders was standing in the vestibule in his shorts and a faded Nirvana T-shirt that was several sizes too big.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something before I went to the gala,” he said.

  At least he wasn’t wearing girls’ clothes. He must have given up on the idea. “Come on through,” she said.

  “I’m going to make a sandwich,” Ollie said and headed for the kitchen.

  Paula sat down and indicated the cushion beside her. “What’s up?”

  “I’m not staying,” Sanders said, picking at a loose thread on the hem of his T-shirt. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “Not very friendly, is he?”

  “He’s all right. Things are just a bit awkward right now.”

  “Did you see that documentary on Channel 4 last night?”

  “Is that what you came to ask? We were at Nora’s last night with your mum. We didn’t see any telly.”

  “I know. I thought you might have recorded it.”

  “I don’t have a recorder. Is your mum all right? She dashed off while we were eating.”

  Sanders shrugged. “One of her migraines. You didn’t see the programme then?”

  “No, I already told you.”

  “I wish you’d seen it.” He began fiddling with his T-shirt again. “This man in Russia had a penis so tiny that the doctors chopped it off and stitched onto his wrist to keep it alive, and then they made him a new one out of a big chunk of his own arm with plastic rods or something inside it.” He spoke rapidly, without looking at her. “It was disgusting. They showed the whole thing and it took ages. After they sewed the new one on, they cut the old one off his wrist and stuck it on the end. It was like Frankenstein, all blood and stitches and raw bits.”

  “Frankenstein’s monster,” she corrected gently.

  “Right.” He was almost whispering now. “It was just hanging there like something in a butcher’s shop.”

  “Are you frightened that’s what the doctors will want to do to you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Paula tried again. “So what happened in the end? Did it all work out for the guy?”

  “I don’t know,” Sanders said. “I was at my nan’s and she came in from washing the dishes and made me switch it off.”

  Ollie walked in carrying two plates of sandwiches. He sat down on the other side of Paula and offered her one. “It’s tuna,” he said.

  She laid the plate on the floor. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

  “We burned quite a few calories this morning. You need to replace them.”

  She turned back to Sanders. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

  “It’s not important.” He jumped up and ran out into the hall.

  Paula went after him. “Wait, please come back and talk to me.”

  He stopped halfway out the front door. “I haven’t got time. I’ve got to get changed for the parade.”

  “Maybe this is something you need to talk to your psychologist about.”

  “I only see her in term time,” he said over his shoulder. He sprinted down the path, leapt over the gate and jogged off towards Main Street.

  “What was all that about?” Ollie asked, when she returned to the sitting room.

  “I didn’t find out because you interrupted.”

  He bit into his sandwich. “These aren’t bad.” He held out her plate. “You’ll feel better if you eat.”

  “How’s a blood
y tuna sandwich going to make me feel better about Sanders? I’m supposed to be his friend and I’m being no use whatsoever to him.”

  “What’s he doing coming to you with his problems? Why isn’t he talking to his mother?”

  “I don’t know, he seems to like me – heaven knows why. He took a big risk confiding in me and I’ve let him down.”

  Ollie pushed the plate towards her again. “Please, babe, your blood sugar’s low.”

  She took the plate and tilted it until the sandwich slid off onto the floor. Tuna spilled onto the carpet.

  “Paula! What did you do that for?”

  “It was that or throw it at you.”

  He took hold of her shoulders. “What’s got into you?”

  She shoved him away. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me ever again.”

  “Come on now, calm down. This is silly.”

  “This is me. This is how I’m feeling, but you think it’s silly,” she shouted. “You think my dreams are silly. You think it’s silly that I didn’t want to go to Nora and Terry’s or ride the tandem with you. You think it’s silly that I care about Sanders and want to help him. Is there anything about me and the way I’m leading my life you don’t think is silly?”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “Paula, please.”

  “What? Just tell me, is there anything at all you think I’m getting right? Because if there isn’t, I really don’t know what you’re doing here. Why exactly have we been together the past few months? Why exactly are you here now? Was it just so you could tell me I’m being completely crap about everything and you know better?”

  “Please, calm down.” He knelt on the carpet in front of her and attempted to look into her eyes, but she turned her head away. “That’s not true and you know it.”

  “Do I? The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want you here any more. I want you to take your things and get out. I don’t want you to phone me or email me or try to get in touch in any other way ever again.”

  Ollie leant back on his haunches. There were tears in his eyes. “Babe, no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. C’mon, we can get through this together. Why don’t we both go and pack our stuff and I’ll drive us back to London. It’s your birthday on Monday. You should be with your family.”