I reached into my handbag for the paperwork Roger had copied and tweaked out Dad’s sketch.
‘This,’ I said, holding it up.
Yolanda frowned. ‘Is that our viaduct?’
‘A vision of it, courtesy of Phil Donati. This was Dad’s brainwave. I’m just custodian.’
‘When did your dad do that?’ Sue asked.
‘Eight years ago apparently,’ Tom said. ‘Never said a word, the sly old bugger.’
‘Sorry, I’m confused,’ Cameron said. ‘I thought Lana said this committee was about trying to get us on the Tour route.’
‘That’s just the idea,’ I said. ‘I was thinking about what Egglethwaite had to offer over other places, and – well, we keep talking about the view from Pagans’ Rock. What makes that so special? The viaduct. That’s what our dad thought.’
‘So Dad sketched his vision of what it could be,’ Tom said.
‘It’s a nice drawing, darling, but how does it help us?’ Yolanda asked.
‘Because it wasn’t just a drawing.’ I shook the rest of the papers out of my document wallet and spread them over the table. ‘There’s a whole stack of research relating to getting the viaduct opened up that Dad was working on before he started chemo. But this is most important.’ I pointed out the structural survey done a decade ago.
‘Why?’ Cameron asked.
‘Because it says the viaduct’s sound. All it really needs is tarmacking.’ I swept my hand over an imaginary vista. ‘Picture it, you lot! A train of cyclists darting over the arches, helicopters getting footage of the reservoir and moors. It’ll look incredible on TV.’
‘Will it bear the weight?’ Sue asked.
I shrugged. ‘It could take a train, I’m sure it can cope with a few bodies.’
‘Even yours, Susan, I’m sure,’ Yolanda said with a smirk. ‘Those arches look well reinforced.’ Sue shot her a filthy look.
Stewart remained silent while this conversation went on.
‘It won’t work,’ he said at last.
I frowned. ‘What do you mean, it won’t work? Why shouldn’t it work?’
‘Come on, Lana, don’t be naive. You really think it’s possible to get a viaduct that’s been neglected for 50 years opened in such a short time?’
‘He’s got a point, darling,’ Yolanda said.
I glared at her. ‘It’s worth making enquiries, isn’t it? I told you, the structure’s sound.’
‘Let’s be logical.’ Stewart started counting on his fingers. ‘One. We don’t even know if we’re going to get a shot at the Tour route yet. It might already have been decided.’
‘That is true,’ Tom said.
‘That doesn’t matter though!’ I looked from one to the other of them. ‘It’s worth doing regardless of the Tour.’
‘Well, let’s park that for now.’ Stewart held up another finger. ‘Two. There may not be funding. Grants are competitive, and local authorities are stretched these days.’
‘We could always try community fundraising if they turn us down.’
Stewart pulled my dad’s costing sheet towards him. ‘Fifty grand though. You really think we could raise that in a tiny village like this?’
‘If we think up good ideas.’
‘In just a few months?’
I hesitated. ‘Maybe.’
‘Ok, three. The time. It’d be nigh on impossible to get the money raised and work done in time for the Tour.’ He put up one last finger. ‘And four. After all that, we might not even get selected for the route and it’ll have been a lot of hard work for nothing.’
‘It wouldn’t!’ Angry tears stung my eyes. ‘Even if we don’t get the route, it’ll be a lasting legacy. We just have to fight.’
‘Um, why’re you standing up, sis?’
I looked down at Tom. He was right: without realising it I’d jumped to my feet.
‘Why is he being so obstructive?’ I practically yelled, pointing to Stewart. ‘Because it was me who suggested it? Is that it, Stewart?’
Stewart looked concerned now, and a little frightened. Through the cloud of rage I noticed the same look on every face around the table.
‘I’m sorry, Lana,’ he said quietly. ‘I had no idea you were so invested or I wouldn’t have – look, I was just trying to point out the flaws objectively, that’s all. I don’t think any of us want to give our time to a dead end, do we?’
‘It’s not a dead end!’ To my disgust, I burst into tears. ‘My dad didn’t think so. Oh God… I have to get out of here. I can’t do with you all staring like that.’ Turning from the sea of worried eyes, I practically ran to the door.
***
In the Fox’s little beer courtyard, Gerry was leaning against the wall, smoking a roll-up.
‘What’re you doing out here?’ he asked.
‘Same as you. Hiding.’
He stubbed his cigarette out against the wall. ‘Something upset you, petal? You sound choked up.’
‘Yeah.’ I sniffed. ‘Dad stuff.’
‘Thought that must be it.’ He beckoned me to him. ‘Come on then.’
I sank gratefully into a hug. That smell: tobacco and beer. It reminded me of Dad, coming back from a boozy pub night while Sue babysat. No matter how tipsy Gerry got him, Dad always tiptoed into my room to give me a goodnight kiss before bed.
‘Thanks, Uncle Gerry,’ I murmured.
He smiled. ‘I don’t think you’ve called me uncle since your mam was alive.’
‘Well. Need all the family I can get these days.’ I drew back from the hug to look at him. ‘You and Sue won’t get divorced, will you?’
‘Why would we get divorced?’
‘You’re always arguing.’
‘Ah, that’s just play. Love of my bloody life, that daft cow. Don’t tell her though, eh?’
‘Secret’s safe with me,’ I said, smiling.
‘So what did I miss inside then? Please God, make it everything scone-related.’
‘Just me having a breakdown.’
He examined my tear-stained face with concern. ‘Go on, what happened?’
‘Stewart didn’t like my idea so I shouted at him.’
‘Oh.’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good. Serves him right for what he did to you last year.’
‘He was still right though, what he said. I’m just an emotional wreck at the moment.’
‘Course you are,’ Gerry said gently. ‘Want me to talk to him?’
‘No, I need to do it. Much as it galls me, I owe him an apology.’
Speak of the devil. Just then Stewart poked his straw-blonde head around the door, the rest of his athletic body quickly following.
‘You ok, Lana?’
‘Gerry, can you give us a minute?’ I said. ‘I need to talk to Stewart.’
Gerry shot a suspicious look at the younger man. ‘All right, pet, if that’s what you want.’
‘You be gentle with her, sonny,’ he muttered to Stewart as he passed him to go back into the pub.
‘Sorry for shouting at you,’ I said when Gerry had gone.
‘Never mind about that, I was being a dick,’ Stewart said, waving a dismissive hand. ‘How’re you doing?’
I sniffed. ‘What’s it look like?’
He came over, and for a minute I thought he was going to hug me. I flinched, but then he obviously thought better of it and his arms dropped awkwardly to his side.
Stewart had changed in the last year, there was no getting away from it. The easy confidence I remembered was still there, but it felt forced somehow. And close up, his eyes… when we’d met a year ago they’d flashed with lazy fun, except when they’d softened just for me. Now, they were filled with something unspoken; something too familiar. Pain. I wondered how much the injury that had forced him out of professional cycling still hurt.
‘I’m sorry, Lana. I was talking without engaging brain first, as usual,’ he said. ‘Tom was just telling me how important this viaduct plan was to your dad.’
‘Not just to him,’ I mumbled, but the words were gobbled up by sobs. Stewart was silent a moment while I struggled to get my tears under control.
‘So I guess the viaduct means a lot to you, does it?’ he asked when I was quiet.
‘Yes. Yes. I need this.’
‘Well, then I’ll fight if you will.’
‘Thought you said it was a rubbish idea,’ I said, sniffing.
He smiled. ‘Come on, I never said that. I just said there were issues to consider. We might be able to find a way.’
‘You really think?’
‘Don’t get your hopes up too high, but yes. If it’s not impossible that means it can be done, right? Let’s just do a bit more research before we start picturing the TV helicopters.’
I laughed. ‘I do tend to run away with myself a bit.’
‘I’d noticed. It’s sweet.’
Sweet. He was calling me sweet. I stared at him, suddenly remembering who I was talking to.
‘Don’t flirt with me, Stewart.’
‘Didn’t realise I was.’
‘Why’re you being nice to me anyway? I just gave you a right bollocking.’
‘Because I upset you and now I feel bad. Anything wrong with that?’
‘S’pose not,’ I said warily. ‘I mean it though, no flirting. Let’s keep it professional.’
‘We’re friends though?’
‘As good friends as ever we were.’ I wiped the last of my tears away with my sleeve. ‘Come on, let’s go back in. We need to make a plan.’
Chapter 13
Well, we made a plan. Which was why I found myself outside McLean’s Machines a fortnight later, a document wallet under my arm and bitterness in my heart.
‘You ready?’ I asked when Stewart answered my knock.
‘I was born ready.’
‘Remind me again why you have to come with me.’
He shrugged. ‘The others thought it might help if the council saw we had someone from the sporting world on board. And because you love me, obviously.’
I groaned. ‘Please stop, I’ve just eaten.’
‘Oh, come on, Lana, lighten up a bit,’ he said, grinning. ‘Only trying to make you smile. I know you can, I’ve seen you do it when you think I’m not looking.’
‘Let’s just get it over with. I might smile then.’
He leaned round to examine my face. ‘Why so nervous, love?’ he asked, dropping the teasing tone.
‘I’ve got a lot invested in this, that’s all.’
‘I know you have.’ He gave my shoulders a squeeze. I winced at the touch, and he hastily pulled his arm away. ‘Try to relax. It won’t help if you’re on edge.’
‘If there’s funding up for grabs we need to make a good impression.’ I gestured to him. ‘Hence you. So behave, all right?’
‘Don’t I always?’
‘No.’ I unlocked the car and nodded to the passenger side. ‘In you get.’
***
All I knew about the man we were meeting was his name, Andy Chen, and that he was something called a communities liaison officer. I’d been expecting someone middle-aged, but the lad who took a seat opposite us in the town hall caf only looked early thirties. He was good-looking too, in a geeky, tousle-haired sort of way.
‘Thanks for seeing us,’ I said.
‘Well, that’s my job,’ Andy said with a friendly smile. ‘So I understand you’re looking at getting the Egglethwaite Viaduct opened up?’
‘That’s the idea.’
‘You’re Phil Donati’s daughter, aren’t you? We were very sorry to hear about his passing on the council.’
I blinked in surprise. ‘That’s right. Did you know him?’
‘My predecessor did, very well. Phil did a lot for Egglethwaite. He’ll be missed.’
‘He will,’ I said, flushing. ‘Oh.’ I nodded to Stewart. ‘This is Mr McLean. He’s new to the village.’
‘But he’s very keen to help,’ Stewart said, holding out his hand. ‘Stewart.’
Andy shook the hand heartily. ‘No introductions needed. I know who you are.’
‘You follow cycling?’
‘Of course.’
Stewart smiled. ‘Pleased to hear it.’
Ugh. Cycling fanboy. I knew there’d be something wrong with him. Well, at least Stewart’s ego was having a nice day out.
‘So what’s next from you?’ Andy asked, his eyes shining. ‘Are you in training for the Tour?’
I saw Stewart wince. ‘No. No, I’m not competing now.’
‘You’re kidding! Why not? I would’ve put money on you being the next Bradley Wiggins this time last year.’
‘Knee injury,’ Stewart said, staring down at the table.
‘Oh. Actually, yes, I remember reading about it,’ Andy said. ‘How long until you’re back in the saddle then? Bet you can’t wait to be on the road again.’
‘It’s… not the sort of injury you ever fully recover from. There’s permanent cartilage damage that means I can’t cycle for extended periods without pain.’ Stewart nodded at my paperwork on the table between us. ‘So shall we talk about the viaduct?’
Andy looked surprised at the abrupt change of subject.
‘If you like. Sorry, hope I didn’t cause offence.’
‘Not at all,’ Stewart said, summoning a smile. ‘Tough subject, that’s all.’
‘So is there any possibility of getting the viaduct opened up?’ I asked, as much to rescue Stewart as anything. Even through the burning resentment I still harboured, I felt a twinge of sympathy. It must be tough, giving up something you loved that much.
‘My dad started looking into it a few years ago,’ I continued. ‘Seems like there’s nothing wrong with the structure.’
‘Yes, I did some research,’ Andy said. ‘We have had interest in opening it up before, it seems: not just from Phil. There was a charity who made enquiries, but when they found out the problem they dropped the idea.’
‘I thought there weren’t any structural problems,’ Stewart said.
‘The problem isn’t structural, it’s organic. Bats.’
‘Right. Bats.’ I frowned. ‘Sorry – bats?’
‘That’s right. Barbastelle, the breed’s called: very rare. A colony were found roosting in one of the crevices. As soon as the charity found out they’d have wildlife protection groups up in arms, they decided it wasn’t worth the effort.’
‘Are you saying we can’t do this?’
‘No, it could be achievable,’ he said cautiously. ‘The bats could be relocated. But it’d need careful timing to fit round their hibernation cycle.’
‘Could we do it in a year? Plus all the work?’
His eyes widened. ‘In a year? Sorry, Lana, that’d be practically impossible.’
‘Practically impossible means possible though, doesn’t it?’ Stewart said. ‘Isn’t there a hope?’
‘But why the big hurry?’
‘We were thinking if the viaduct was accessible to cyclists, the Grand Départ might consider running through Egglethwaite,’ Stewart said. ‘It’d certainly be a feature few other places could offer. Great TV, and great for our area’s profile.’
Andy was silent a moment.
‘I have to admire your determination,’ he said at last.
‘So are we wasting our time here, Andy?’
‘The thing is it’s the money, too. If Egglethwaite was part of the national park it’d perhaps be a different story, but out here in no-man’s land things’re tight.’
‘My dad costed it at 50 grand,’ I said. ‘Surely it’s worth it?’
‘When we’ve just halved o
ur budget for community youth clubs thanks to government cuts? How would we explain to parents and kids that we’ll be spending 50 grand on one little village’s viaduct?’
‘That’s not how funding pots work, is it?’
‘No. But it’s how the public think they work. There’d be a lot of angry people once it got out.’
I looked at Stewart. ‘Then it’s hopeless.’
‘Look, Andy. Couldn’t you help us out?’ Stewart said with one of his most winning smiles. ‘This meant a lot to Lana’s dad. We really want to try for it, in his memory.’
‘It wouldn’t have to be entirely council-funded,’ I said. ‘We could fundraise.’
Andy hesitated. ‘I’ll put it to the council for you, give it my best sell,’ he said at last. ‘But don’t get your hopes up, guys.’
I flung him a grateful smile. ‘Thanks, Andy. You’ve been brilliant.’
***
‘That seemed to go well,’ Stewart said as we drove home.
‘As well as it could. Let’s just hope he can help.’
‘Keen, wasn’t he?’
‘Yeah, he was nice.’
I could see Stewart shooting me an appraising look in the rearview mirror. ‘You liked him. Didn’t you?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Come on, Lana, don’t prickle. I behaved, didn’t I?’
I softened a little, remembering how helpful he’d been in the meeting and the pang of sympathy I’d felt when he’d talked about giving up cycling.
‘Yes. You behaved.’
‘So, did you?’
‘He was all right,’ I said at last.
‘Why don’t you ask him out?’
‘All right, Stewart, that’s enough. There’s a line.’
‘Sorry. Thought we were doing the friend bonding thing.’
‘Well we weren’t.’
‘Ok. Line well and truly noted.’
In the mirror, I met his grey eyes briefly.
‘Look, thanks for today,’ I said eventually. ‘And thanks… for what you said about my dad. I didn’t mean to snap.’
And so in the silence of a shaky alliance, we made our way back home.
Chapter 14
I scrambled breathlessly up the ferny bank after a frisking Flash, watching the lightning-shaped patch of white on his tail disappear over the top.
A Bicycle Made For Two Page 10
