by I Beacham
They entered by a side door that led directly into the kitchen. It surprised her that the space was larger than she anticipated.
The first thing she noticed was the sturdy, sizeable, scrubbed oak table in the middle of a vast, echoing, tiled kitchen. The second was the motorbike leaning up against the table, and the assortment of bike bits all over it.
She was about to say something when she caught the look of fear on Sam’s face.
“Shit,” Sam said in un-reverend type fashion.
Before Joey could find out what was wrong, the answer walked into the room. A robust looking elderly woman wearing an apron and a sour face crossed her arms in disapproval as she stood before Sam.
“I thought you’d left.” Sam looked like a burglar caught in a spotlight.
“Clearly. So you moved this…monstrosity into the kitchen. What is that?” The woman with the mildest Irish accent pointed to an oily piece of machinery sitting on newspaper on the table.
“A magneto,” Sam answered flatly.
“What’s it doing on the table?”
“I’m repairing it.”
As Joey watched the two women interact and eyeball each other, a peculiar feeling came over her. Reverend Samantha Savage was a woman in control of all she surveyed. She was intelligent, articulate, and full of warmth. Yet here she was, some five feet seven inches of her, on her back hoof defending herself. Joey found it strangely appealing. Not for the first time she wondered why she had caved in to the vicar’s pitiful request for an organist. Joey had a reputation for being resolute, with an unbendable streak of stubbornness. Yet she had given in almost at first hurdle. Auntie Elsa kept telling her to seek out company. It was unexpected to find that so quickly, and in ecclesiastical shape.
“Gloria, this is Joey. Joey, this is Gloria, my housekeeper.”
Gloria acknowledged her, a small polite smile breaking the straight line of her lips.
“I had a parrot called Joey once.” Gloria’s smile deepened. It was probably for a much loved bird.
“My housekeeper has an endearing way.” Sam’s lyrical tones dripped with playful sarcasm. It brought the scowl back to Gloria’s face.
“You’ll see how endearing I can be if this machine is not back outside where it belongs when I return.”
Sam splayed her hands in defense. “Gloria, you aren’t supposed to be here. You said yesterday was your last day. You’re supposed to be on holiday.”
Gloria shrugged then stretched her neck. “I got my dates wrong. I leave later today.” She glanced back at Joey. “My dear, would you like a cup of tea? I’m just off, but I can put the kettle on.”
“I’ve got it,” Sam said. “You get going.”
Gloria was already hanging her apron and picking up her bag to leave.
“Now remember, there’s a cottage pie in the deep freeze, enough for several nights, and I’ve left some nice chicken in the fridge. Don’t leave it too long. It’ll go off.”
“Yes, yes, you told me yesterday.” Sam affectionately squeezed Gloria’s shoulders. “What would I do without you? You’re golden.”
Gloria was not appeased.
“I’ll give you golden. If that bike is still in this kitchen when I get back off holiday, there’s going to be trouble. You’ve a month to do that.” As she left, she turned back to Joey. “Nice to meet you, Joey. Make yourself at home…if you can.”
With a breeze of movement, Gloria was gone.
Sam exhaled. “Phew, a month…a wonderful month of freedom. This is the first time she’s taken any real break since I’ve been here. Her lovely family want her to stay awhile…in Ireland. Wonderful people.”
“You’ve met them?”
“Never.” Sam eyeballed Joey. “But they want her for a month.”
Joey grinned. “She’s very fond of you.” Despite Gloria’s sharp tongue and chastisement toward Sam, there was no hiding the affection.
“The feeling’s mutual. We do this all the time. It’s like a game, but it’s how we communicate best.” Sam laughed as she put the kettle on and pulled bacon from the fridge, throwing it into a pan on the stove.
Joey studied the motorbike. “I haven’t seen one of these for years. It’s a BSA A10 Golden Flash, right?”
Sam turned, now more interested in the conversational topic than streaky bacon.
“Yes. It’s a 1953, with plunger suspension.”
With plunger suspension. Joey couldn’t stop smiling. Only a real bike nut came out with statements like that. And the look on Sam’s face? Joey realized she could have spouted every word of the Bible from memory and Sam would have been less shocked.
“Dad used to have one,” Joey explained. “Bit of an enthusiast.”
“He hasn’t got it anymore?” It was obvious Sam couldn’t believe anyone would ever part with one.
“He’s getting older and downsizing.”
“I can’t imagine anyone ever getting rid of a Beezer.”
Joey smiled. Her father had called it a Beezer, too. It was an accepted nickname for the bike.
“Why did he do it?”
“Mother,” Joey answered.
“Ah,” Sam said.
“She just doesn’t understand bikes.”
“How terrible. Your poor father.”
Sam reacted as if it were the worst news. Joey’s smile grew. She was learning that Sam had a distinct way of seeing life. It was charming, and Joey knew she was in the presence of what Americans called an eccentric Brit.
Sam diverted her attention back to the bacon that was sizzling. “You work for the BBC then?”
“How do you—”
“You told me…when we met over the flowers.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Doing what?”
How Joey wished she hadn’t mentioned it, but then it was the sort of question a person asked anyway. “What do you do?” And she was an American, and over here. The questions begged answers.
“I work for a production company that makes all sorts of documentaries for the BBC. I advise. I’m a consultant.”
“It sounds important.”
Joey was grateful Sam’s back was toward her. She stopped smiling and didn’t want to say why.
“I suppose so.” She didn’t feel it was. Nothing seemed important to her anymore where her job was concerned. Everyone was hoping she was going to “pull herself together” and get back to normal. How did she do that with the death of her friends weighing down on her? Her job had once been her life. She’d lived and breathed it. Now it was as if it was toxic, and poisoning her. If she could just get some balance back in her life. Maybe they were right. This move over to England—the change of air—might do her good.
“Are you over here long?”
Sam’s persistent questioning added to her ever-present depression.
“Not sure. Maybe. See how it all works out. I’m looking for new challenges. It’s why I’m here. I’ll see how it pans out.”
Sam was about to ask more when Joey changed the topic.
“What’s wrong with the bike?”
Sam had already thrown everything they needed onto the table. She now dished bacon onto a plate and placed it next to the bike part before finally adding the pot of tea. They both sat down.
“Don’t know,” Sam answered. “It’s a mystery.” She stared at the magneto in disgust. What mystified her more was the reticence in Joey’s voice when she spoke of why she was here, and why she was deflecting conversation to the bike. Sam knew not to push. For now they could talk motorcycles.
Sam bit into a bacon sandwich and washed it down with tea as she stared at the glossy livery that was her bike.
“It’s been breaking down a lot, and now I can’t get it to go.” Sam sighed. The bike was normally her pride and joy. “You’d better not ask me anymore questions. Once I start talking bikes, it’s difficult to stop me.” How many eyes had glazed over on this topic?
“Don’t worry about that. I grew up with Dad’s obsession.
I used to help him sometimes.”
“Do you bike?”
“Not really. Sure, I can handle one, but I’ve never owned one or wanted to. I used to ride out with Dad occasionally when I was younger. If you want to talk bikes, go for it. I can cope.”
Permission granted, Sam did not hold back.
“The bike’s taken me to some interesting places, but lately it’s been failing to convey me home afterward.”
She thought of the first breakdown. It had involved the gear shafts breaking free. She’d had to call out roadside recovery. That, plus the repairs, had been an expensive day out. More recently, her broken down Beezer had stood forlornly at the roadside. All the kicking in the world couldn’t get it to restart after it ground to a halt.
“I made the mistake of rushing her. She’s got a truck full of torque and can pull like a train all the way up to seventy miles per hour with little effort. But the minute I go over that, the vibrations start. Last month, the bike started to shed a few parts. Even the kick-start lever fell off. It’s my fault, Joey. These bikes aren’t made to travel at high speeds for any length of time. It doesn’t like motorways because there were no motorways when it was made. Anyway, now I can’t restart her.”
Sam looked over at Joey expecting to see rigid boredom on her face. Far from it, Joey was holding the magneto and studying it.
“What makes you think it’s this?” Joey asked.
“I’ve tried everything else.” Sam had worked herself into a right lather trying to assess the problem. So far, she had failed.
“Like?”
Sam had found a playmate. This was fun.
“The Internet BSA forum experts always seem to distrust the bike’s electrics so, in anticipation of electrical Armageddon, I attacked my bank account and upgraded all the electrics.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
“Have you checked the valve clearances?”
Sam leaned in, loving Joey’s way with words.
“Yes, and what a messy, fiddly job that was, and for nothing. They all turned out to be within tolerance. I’ve also fitted new leads, plug caps, sparking plugs. I’ve even fitted an expensive twelve-volt conversion.”
“Wow.” Joey sounded impressed.
“But the problem’s still there. I thought it was the magneto, but now I don’t think it is.”
There was a time when Sam probably wouldn’t have recognized a magneto if it had smacked her in the face. Now after evenings frequenting online biking forums, and reading manuals, she could recognize one in complete darkness while wearing snow mittens.
“Why?”
“Because after much swearing and knuckle-bashing, I can confirm the stupid piece of metal is correctly adjusted.” Sam grimaced. The piece of engine even had the audacity to look brand new, although it wasn’t.
“It looks brand new.” Joey read Sam’s mind.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Sam didn’t hide her sarcasm, or frustration. “I love this bike, but right now it’s broke, and I have no idea what to check next.”
“Dad loved the Beezer as well. He called it his Brit bike. I’m pretty sure his was hell to start too, especially when it was hot, but I don’t recall him actually replacing any parts.” Joey was suddenly on her hands and knees examining the bike’s engine. “In fact, if I remember right, all he did was remove something and give it a good clean.”
“What?” Sam fell to her hands and knees alongside Joey.
“I can’t remember.”
“Yes, you can. Think.”
Joey eyeballed Sam. “You’re hindering my thought processes.”
“No, I’m not. Would another cup of tea help?”
“You’re being a nuisance.”
“I’m just helping you to remember.”
“It’s not working. Go away.”
Sam stood and walked over to the window, exasperated. She just wanted her bike back.
“Got it,” Joey announced.
Sam flew back to her side.
“Carburetor,” Joey said after a delayed pause. “That’s what it was.”
“The carb?”
“Not actually the carb, but the insulator which is—”
“—a thick gasket.”
Joey sat back on her haunches. “I think once the engine gets hot you can get fuel vaporization…or something like that. Dad said something about the importance of having an insulation spacer or whatever it is, between the hot engine and the carb to keep it as cool as possible. It helps stop the gas from vaporizing before it’s sucked into the engine.”
“I looked at the carb.” Sam was mystified.
“Did you do anything to it?”
“No. I just looked at it.”
Joey rolled her eyes. “I’ll Skype Dad and ask him. Then maybe I could come back and help?”
“You’d do that?”
“Yep.”
Sam leaned back in amazement. “I am so beginning to like you, Josephine Barry.”
She was rewarded with a smile.
*
Joey didn’t see Sam again until Wednesday evening when she was organ playing for the scouts at their jamboree event at the church.
She had tried several times to see her earlier, as her father had given her loads of advice regarding the carburetor problem. The more she told him, the more he was sure it was a gasket issue. He’d even emailed her a diagram accompanied with copious instructions. Joey was eager to share what she’d found out with Sam. She wanted to go help solve the problem, but it seemed their schedules weren’t compatible. When one was free, the other wasn’t. They were going to have to wait till Saturday.
In the meantime, Joey settled at the organ and played. She listened to the angelic voices of the scouts. Earlier rehearsals, which the silvery tongued Sam had cajoled her into attending, had been chaos. The scoutmaster shouted his head off until he was hoarse trying to get the super-charged kids to stay in one place long enough to be organized. They made the Energizer Bunny look like a three-toed sloth.
But the concert was going great guns. She was glad Sam had sweet-talked her into playing. There was something about the music and being surrounded by youngsters that completely took her mind off the traumas of the Middle East. Though her respite was temporary, the release was golden.
She played the last song, and Joey watched as the audience, made up of the public, civic members, and parents of the scouts, moved around the church congratulating everyone. She turned to put the sheet music away.
There was a sudden loud bang, followed by crashing sounds that echoed around the church. Its source came from the other side of the plastic sheeting not far from her. She yelled, and her head went down in defense, her eyes shut tight. It felt like all the air was sucked out as her heart started racing. She started to shake and couldn’t stop.
One of the scouts was there with her, shouting down into the aisle. “Reverend, something’s wrong with Joey.”
Joey wanted to tell him she was okay and not to worry, but the words wouldn’t come.
“It’s all right, miss.” There was another scout there now. “One of the lads has knocked a builder’s ladder over and it’s fallen into some tools. He shouldn’t have been there and everything’s crashed down, that’s all.”
The simple explanation didn’t help. Though her mind was telling her to be calm, her body was reacting badly, and she had no control.
Seconds later, she heard the soft, soothing voice of Sam. “It’s okay, lads. I’ve got this.” An arm went around her. “Take some deep breaths, Joey. You’re safe.”
She knew that, but it changed nothing. Joey felt humiliated, like she had when she was in front of the camera after they said she was better and ready again. They’d thought because her physical injuries had healed she was the old Josephine Barry once more. But she wasn’t. She hadn’t been ready. She’d never be ready. What was happening now only proved it. What was in her head was a mess, and she was useless. Brandon Finch had seen that. It was w
hy he’d gotten rid of her. Now she was making a spectacle of herself again.
Her senses started to return to normal, and she realized it was quiet in the church. She glanced around and all eyes were on her. It was like the televised debates when she’d panicked. Everyone had stared at her. They were staring now. She felt shamed.
Somehow she managed to say, “I’m sorry.”
The arm around her tightened.
Sam was rubbing her back, concern etched on her face. “Don’t be. It frightened the shit out of me. I thought the roof was collapsing again.”
Though Sam tried to lighten the moment, she couldn’t hide her unease. It was a look Joey knew far too well. It was how everyone had looked at her at first. Later, when she didn’t get better, they grew embarrassed and uncomfortable. They walked away.
“You’ve gone very pale. Are you okay?”
Joey answered with all the dignity she could. “It was just the shock, but I’m fine now.” It wasn’t really a lie. She was calming.
Sam didn’t seem convinced and refused to let her leave straightaway. She even took her into the vestry, and one of the scouts made her a cup of tea. The Brits seemed to look on the drink as a cure-all. There was a lot of talk about letting someone drive her home, but Joey wouldn’t be persuaded. All the concern only made her feel worse. Eventually, she succeeded in convincing Sam and the others that she was fine.
When Joey returned home to her newly moved in apartment, it felt lonely and empty. Much of her stuff was still in boxes, and the furniture she was renting wasn’t arriving until tomorrow. It did nothing to lift her flagging spirits. She called Auntie Elsa. Seconds later, she was back in the car and driving to Elsa’s to spend the night.
*
Joey was alone, and yet she wasn’t.
She was cold, but sweat ran down her face.
She held her breath, yet she was panting.
The carpet beneath her bare feet cut like blades into her skin as she stood without motion.
The door in front of her was shut, but she felt no protection.
There was something on the other side, and she sensed its evil menacing presence. All it had to do was push and the door would open for there was no lock.
