A Bicycle Made For Two

by Mary Jayne Baker

  Tom’s hand was gripping mine so hard the knuckles were white, but I barely felt it.

  Sal put the paper down. ‘And now it’s traditional to have a moment’s silence to remember the person who’s gone. But Phil didn’t like silence. So instead we’re going to take a minute to turn to our neighbours and give them a hug, as he wanted us to.’

  There was a hum of conversation as people stood to follow Dad’s last request, embracing, shaking hands, kissing cheeks: there was even some laughter. It was beautiful.

  I turned to Tom and hugged him tightly.

  ‘The last thing he thought of was us,’ Tom said in a choked whisper.

  ‘I know. Let’s try to do what he wanted.’

  Chapter 6

  Bereavement or not, we couldn’t afford to close the restaurant, especially with custom as bad as it had been recently. Deano, Jasmine and Debbie were all brilliant, taking extra shifts so Tom and me could have some downtime in the weeks following Dad’s funeral, but after a fortnight it was back to business as usual. To be honest, it was a relief to have something to take my mind off things.

  My first evening back, I looked around the restaurant and sighed. It was a Saturday, which a year ago would’ve meant a full house. Tonight only about a third of the tables were occupied.

  Dad had been the heart of Here Be Flagons, even after he’d got too ill to keep up with chef duties. Ever since we’d learned he was coming to the very end it felt like the whole place had been infected with a residual gloom that even the customers had picked up on.

  I tapped Jasmine’s shoulder as she passed by with a dish of wild boar casserole for Table 12.

  ‘Jaz, I’m just going to check on Deano then I’m taking my break. Think you can manage?’

  ‘Yeah, take as long as you need, Lana. Debbie and me should be able to cope.’

  I cast a glum look around the thinly-peopled restaurant. ‘Yes. I think you should.’

  She threw me that look before she went, the one that’d been in everyone’s eyes recently: a blend of sympathy and gratitude, because it was us and not them. That’s what it seemed like anyway. I was sick of it.

  It was a relief to go see Deano in the kitchen. Deano didn’t do the look. Deano was just Deano: touchy-feely, loud and friendly, like a giant, scary muppet. Over the last year, I’d come to realise he was actually the closest friend I had. Which was weird because he was still trying to snog me at every opportunity.

  ‘Hey, Lana-nana! Come check this out,’ he said, beckoning me to him with excitement glittering insanely in his insane brown eyes.

  I blinked at the cooker top. ‘It’s a pan.’

  ‘Not just any pan. This is top of the range, Mum got it me. Brought it in because I couldn’t wait to use it.’

  ‘Why? Is it a magic pan?’

  ‘It is when I’m cooking with it.’ Deano gestured to the pan’s surface. ‘Look! Non-stick, titanium coated, super-efficient heat distribution… I’m telling you, Lana, if Jesus Christ had been into cooking, this is the pan he would’ve used.’

  ‘Nah, that’s the old Last Crusade trap, isn’t it? Jesus would’ve used a simple wooden skillet and your fancy pan’d make Nazis turn to dust.’

  ‘All right, the Dalai Llama then. Or Gary Lineker. Anyone awesome with great taste in pans.’ He caressed the handle reverently.

  I squinted at him. ‘Did you name the pan, Deano?’

  He drew himself up. ‘Certainly not. Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Oh God. What’s it called then?’

  ‘She is called Katie, if you must know.’ He turned away from Katie the pan to look at me. ‘So how’re you getting on then, boss?’

  I sighed. ‘Well as I can, I guess. Thanks for asking.’

  ‘Well, there’s asking and there’s doing. Here.’ He lifted a small casserole dish off the top of the oven. ‘Nothing special, just chicken and veg. I thought you and Tom probably wouldn’t feel like cooking.’

  I took it from him gratefully. ‘Ta, love. You know, you don’t need to keep looking after us.’

  He waved his finger at me. ‘But ahaha. This is all part of my master plan.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Go on then, I’ll bite. What’s the master plan?’

  ‘To make my fortune by marrying you and taking over your half of the business.’ He shrugged. ‘Or Tom, I’m not fussy. Whichever of you calls dibs, all this could be yours.’ He gave his hips a little wiggle.

  I couldn’t help laughing, but there was a bit of sigh in there too. ‘Think you might need a new plan, mate. The way things are, you’d make better money on the dole than marrying into the Donatis.’

  ‘Oh, all businesses go through slumps. It’ll pick up, I’m planning a whole new menu for the autumn.’ He gave my bottom a comforting pinch. ‘Go on, Lanasaurus, take your break. We’ve got things covered down here.’

  ***

  Upstairs, I dumped the chicken in the kitchenette and went to chill on the sofa while I waited for Tom to get back from wherever he’d disappeared to.

  Flash was curled up in his bed, watching me with one eye open. He was only a baby, he hadn’t quite got the hang of playing asleep yet. As soon as my bum hit the leather, he abandoned the pretence and leapt into my lap to give my face an enthusiastic bath.

  ‘Oof. Don’t you be getting hair on the wench gear, pup,’ I said, tickling him between the ears.

  After a few minutes, a pungent smell of dripping and vinegar assaulted me and Tom came in with a greaseproof packet tucked under his arm.

  ‘God, Tom, not chips again,’ I groaned. ‘You’ll be a blimp in a few months. Then you’ll have Sue nagging you about Slimming World.’

  ‘Oh, shut up and take some calories for the team.’ He collapsed next to me and shoved the packet my way.

  ‘Why don’t you just ask him out before your arteries seize up?’ I asked, ripping along the paper and helping myself to a chip. ‘The social embarrassment can’t be worse than heart failure.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, I’m British. Course it bloody can.’

  Flash looked up eagerly when he smelt the chips. I hesitated, then handed him one. He was getting spoilt rotten since Dad had gone, but we couldn’t help babying him a bit. After so long caring round the clock for someone, it was easy to feel a bit bereft with only ourselves to look after. The little sheepdog Gerry had given us to comfort Dad in his last few months was all we had left.

  ‘Come on, you’ve fancied that lad in the chippy for months,’ I said to Tom. ‘Are you just going to guzzle chips twice a week until he notices you?’

  ‘In the absence of a better plan.’ He pinched a chip off me. ‘Hey, I found out his name today.’

  ‘Well, that’s progress I suppose. What is it?’

  ‘Cameron. You know, I’ve always thought he looked like a Cameron. His hair says Cameron.’

  ‘You told me last month his eyes said Craig.’

  He shrugged. ‘Close enough.’

  ‘You’re liable to get a slap off Deano anyway,’ I said, feeding Flash another chip. I nodded towards the kitchenette. ‘He made us chicken for tea. If he finds out you ruined your appetite with chips, it’ll be no pudding for you.’

  ‘Where is he on the crazyometer today?’ Tom asked. ‘I’m on kitchen duty with him in half an hour.’

  I made a swirly motion next to my ear. ‘Oven’s on but nothing’s cooking.’

  ‘Oh God, what this time?’

  ‘He’s developed an inappropriate relationship with a lady frying pan called Katie.’

  ‘Right.’ Tom blinked. ‘Well that’s certainly a new one.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s getting worse. But he’s a good lad.’ I sighed. ‘Dad always liked him.’

  ‘I know.’ Tom snorted. ‘So Deano’s a pansexual now, is he?’

  I groaned. ‘God, that’s terrible.’

/>   ‘Better than your morris dancing gags.’

  My phone buzzed from somewhere inside my corset, and I reached into my cleavage for it.

  Tom curled his lip. ‘Do you have to keep your phone in your boobs, sis? It’s disturbing watching you grope around in there.’

  I shrugged. ‘Sorry. Whoever the genius was behind these costumes obviously didn’t think there was any need to include pockets for all our wench paraphernalia. Bet any money it was a bloke.’

  ‘Well? Gerry or Sue?’

  ‘Gerry.’ I swiped at the bosom-warmed screen to answer the call.

  ‘Hiya,’ I said. ‘You know, you don’t need to check up on us every day. We’re fine, honestly.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m ringing. It was the meeting last night.’

  ‘I told you, Gerry: joining the Egglethwaite Morrismen is not a valid way for Tom to cope with grief.’

  ‘Not that meeting, the village society,’ Gerry said. ‘I pitched your Grand Départ idea like you asked.’

  ‘Oh God, did you?’ I grimaced. ‘Honestly, forget it, I don’t know what I was thinking.’

  ‘No, they loved it. Rodge wants you to come to a meeting with the other local business owners to discuss it. Only if you’re feeling up to it, he said.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘Nope. It’s Sunday, think you can face it? They’ve asked for you and Tom to present your proposal.’

  ‘Proposal?’ My eyes widened. ‘What proposal? I never made a proposal!’

  ‘You proposed we woo the Tour de France people so we can get the route through Egglethwaite,’ he said, sounding impatient. ‘And then you asked me to sell it to the society and I did – against my better judgement. What’s the problem, lass?’

  ‘That’s hardly a bloody proposal, Gerry. It’s an idea, that’s all. I never thought I’d have to be the brains of the operation.’

  ‘You don’t, you just have to make a case. Me and the missus’ll be there to support the pair of you.’

  The pair of us. I shot Tom a guilty look as he nibbled obliviously on a chip. I couldn’t help feeling he’d been dragged into this somehow.

  ‘They’re not expecting a Powerpoint or anything,’ Gerry went on. ‘Just tell them why you think it’d be good for the village.’

  ‘But it was just an off-the-cuff suggestion! God, if I’d followed up on every mad pub idea I’ve had in my life, I’d have arm-wrestled Bear Grylls and run a marathon dressed as a panto dame by now. Are you seriously telling me I’ve got five days to flesh this thing out into something solid?’

  ‘Basically, yeah.’

  I lowered my voice. ‘How many of them are there?’

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Plus the business owners.’

  ‘Bollocks!’

  ‘And they’re opening it up to interested villagers too.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  He laughed. ‘On behalf of your old man, I should probably tell you to wash your mouth out.’

  ‘You son of a bitch, Gerry,’ I hissed. ‘What’ve you got me into?’

  ‘Me?’ he said in a surprised tone. ‘I just do as I’m told. When the womenfolk give me instructions, I follow them. I’m no mug.’ He sighed. ‘Look, just come to the meeting and say what you said in the pub. If the society go for it, you don’t have to take it any further.’

  ‘Ugh. Fine. But next May Day I’m sabotaging your bells. When you lot find your dingers missing, remember who to thank.’

  ‘If you really wanted revenge you’d sabotage the beer pumps,’ he said. ‘See you Sunday, pet.’

  ‘Oh God, what’s up?’ Tom said when I’d ended the call.

  ‘Who said there’s anything up?’ I dislodged Flash and walked to the window. The long-empty shop across the road was covered in scaffolding and I wondered fleetingly what they were doing to it.

  ‘Your stupid wenchy face says there’s something up. What’ve you got us into, Lana?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, throwing myself back on the sofa. ‘Just the tiniest thing. It’ll take half an hour, tops.’

  ‘What’ll take half an hour tops?’

  I screwed my eyes closed and peeked at him from under one lid. ‘Wehavetogiveapresentationtothevillagesociety,’ I mumbled in one breath.

  ‘We have to what?’

  ‘Village society. Presentation. Us.’ I opened my eye a little wider, then closed it again when I saw the incredulous look on his face. ‘Gerry’s fault.’

  ‘But what on?’

  ‘BusinesscaseTourdeFrance.’

  ‘Seriously. Stop doing that.’

  I sighed. ‘That idea I had at the pub, the night Dad – that night. The village society want us to go to a meeting and make our case. If we’re feeling up to it, they said.’

  ‘Our case?’

  ‘Yeah. Not sure how you got press-ganged. Sorry, Tommy.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘Well, that’s not so bad,’ he said at last. ‘Much as it kills me to say it, it’s actually a great idea. Plus it’ll take our mind off, you know… stuff.’

  ‘You what? You hate public speaking. You’re like the shyest person ever.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’re the mouthiest person since Eve was a lass. Between us we should cope.’ He squeezed my shoulders. ‘You were right, this is Egglethwaite’s chance to be part of history in the making. Let’s make Dad proud and bloody well do it, eh?’

  Chapter 7

  ‘Pheeeeewwww.’ I exhaled slowly through my teeth.

  ‘What’re you doing that for?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Making that weird noise. Deano’s cheese souffle’s not repeating on you, is it?’

  ‘It’s a breathing exercise, dumbass. I’m psyching myself up.’

  ‘Wish I’d psyched myself up with a stiff drink,’ he said, huddling further back into his corner. ‘Oh God, they’ll start arriving any minute. Another fine mess you’ve got me into.’

  ‘What? You were the one who said it was a good idea!’

  ‘Suddenly it’s not looking quite so hot. Why the hell did we come so early?’

  Ok, so perhaps it had been a mistake, arriving at Egglethwaite Temperance Hall – or the Temp, as locals tended to call it – a full half-hour before the Tour de France meeting. We’d wanted to avoid entering to the stares of a packed room. But now we were there, cowering in the hideous tangerine meeting room as we waited for anyone else to arrive, I was desperately wishing we’d called at Holyfield Farm for Gerry and Sue on the way. Now we just had more time to worry about this bloody presentation that according to Gerry wasn’t a presentation but clearly, clearly was.

  ‘Oh. Evening, you two.’

  I summoned a weary smile for the chairwoman of the WI as she flounced in. Or rather, no longer Egglethwaite Women’s Institute but Egglethwaite Ladies Who Lunch, as they’d rebranded since Yolanda Sommerville – Sue’s best friend and bitterest enemy – had been elected chair.

  Yolanda had pink hair. She liked shawls, Heat magazine, men half her age and being the most shocking person in the room. She made me want to gnaw off my own earlobes and fry them in garlic.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ She shot a suggestive smile at Tom. ‘Tall and dark, just how I like them. How are we then, Tomasso?’

  ‘Still gay, love, sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, let me know if you change your mind. I do so relish a challenge.’

  ‘Yeah. It doesn’t actually work like that.’

  ‘I’ve a bottle of elderflower gin in my larder says it can, handsome,’ she said, grinning. ‘Try everything once except incest and morris dancing, as the saying goes. Don’t tell Gerry I said so, of course.’

  I shook my head. ‘For God’s sake, Yo-yo, give the lad a break. You know,
sexual orientation aside, you’re old enough to be his mother.’

  ‘They call us cougars these days, my lovely,’ she said, tossing her shawls affectedly. ‘We’re very now, you know.’

  ‘You’re very deluded, you know,’ I muttered. But our conversation was cut short by the arrival of Gerry and Sue with a handful of society members. Gradually the room filled, until there was a standing crowd of about 30 people.

  I felt a hand grip my wrist.

  ‘How the hell do I let you talk me into these things?’ Tom muttered.

  ‘How the hell do I talk myself into these things?’ I scanned the expectant crowd in a panic. ‘Oh bollocks. Look at them all. I bet they think we know what we’re talking about and everything.’

  ‘Oi. Language. No swearing allowed at meetings, Gerry said.’

  ‘No fucking swearing, are you fucking kidding? There’s a room full of assorted morrismen and their mates staring at me. And I bet that joke about it having bells on isn’t going to ice any turnips either.’

  ‘It never did.’ Tom patted my shoulder. ‘Well, don’t worry, sis, you can do it. I have every confidence in you.’

  ‘Me? Us! Don’t you dare pull out on me now.’ I grabbed his arm as he tried to sidle off. ‘Stay put or I throw you to Yo-yo.’

  The chairman, Roger Collingwood, was clearing his throat for quiet. Tom and I put on our best calm-and-confident faces as we waited to be introduced.

  ‘Hm-hmmm,’ Roger began. ‘Ladies and gents. Welcome to this extraordinary meeting of the Egglethwaite Village Society. There is no agenda tonight, or rather – ’ he laughed nasally, ‘or rather, the agenda is an agendum. Only one item is before us. As we all know, Le Tour leaves Yorkshire next year, and we wish to consider how it could in any way benefit our little village. We have gathered you together, residents and business owners, to give your views.’

  There was a buzz of conversation among the assembled crowd.

  ‘If we could get on the route it’d put a lot of custom my way,’ called Billy, landlord of the Sooty Fox. ‘Are there wheels in motion to get us under consideration or what, Rodge?’