AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘No, just well… could be some damage.’
‘Brain damage?’
‘Let’s hope not, right?’ I fiddle with the strap on my helmet. ‘I’ll probably go back there later. But his mum’s with him now, I think.’
Aiden nods. Scuffs the ground with his trainer. ‘At least I did no’ argue with him,’ he mutters.
‘Argue?’
He looks up, his face pinched. ‘Aye, you see I rowed with my brother, last time I saw him before he died. I was telling Gethin about it the other night. He said I should no’ blame myself, but if I’d done that again…?’ he tails off, keeps scraping the ground with his foot.
My insides plummet as it hits me that Gethin and I were arguing when he stormed off up the cliff-side. I tighten my grip on the helmet as we stand in silence. Want to get away, but I’m like paralysed with fear and guilt.
‘Well, I’ll leave you be,’ Aiden says, pulling at his sleeves again.
I nod, bite my lip against the prick of tears.
‘If you could, let us know. I’ll give you the number for the burger van.’
I pull out my phone and he dictates the number.
‘Tell Gethin I’ve promised Iain I’m voting in this referendum thingy. It may make no difference, but you never know.’
‘Aw, he’ll be wanting to steal your vote.’
We stand awkward another moment. Then he pats my arm and walks away.
I start out on the road to Tongue, heading for John O’Groats. I should be back in Inverness before it’s too late this evening. Right now, I crave the bike ride to stop me thinking.
Massive lurch in my stomach as I pass the road off to Smoo Cave. How was that only yesterday? Carry on for a couple of miles, the road turning up the side of a long sea inlet. Can’t stop thinking about Gethin. The bike focus thing not working. He asked me to go and talk to Don. Practically the last thing he said to me, right? So why am I heading in the opposite direction?
I pull into a lay-by. Light a cigarette and sit for a minute. Why not go the whole hog with this story? I smoke and watch a gull glide the wind current in an arc above the sea-loch.
Must have helped to have made up my mind – the ride to Lochgillan totally keeping me focussed on the road. All about the bike. Throb of the engine. Rush of cold air. Flash of light on the loch-sides. Blur of green and purple as I lean and turn and the bike eats the tarmac. Unwelcome thoughts to the winds. I hit Lochgillan with no idea as to how I’m going to tackle Don.
Coming out of the pines, up and round the bend, catch a glimpse of the museum on the straight. Afternoon light batting off the roof. No other vehicles as I park up in front. I lock my helmet to the bike and shake my hair loose. Pull on my shades – maybe better if he doesn’t recognise me right from the start?
Push my way into the entrance booth and ring the bell. Seems a lifetime since I stood here with the rain dripping into tin buckets. I count it back – only three days. No buckets now. But the clutter of bikes, displays and assorted junk is just the same.
Such a déjà vu when he comes out of the workshop wiping his hands on his greasy overalls. That far-away look of his. Then I see him clock my leathers and glance out of the window to see what I’ve parked there. Yeah, the only way in is through the bikes.
‘Harley Sportster 1200?’ he says, taking my entrance money. ‘You’ve been here before. I never forget a bike, not even a Harley.’
‘That’s right,’ hoping he remembers the bike better than me. ‘Thought I’d take another look at the lady trials racing champion.’ I walk towards the display.
‘Ah, yes.’ He joins me in front of the old trials bike. ‘Miss E Sturt’s Sprint Special. That’s supposed to be my next project, to get the bike working.’ He takes a breath and holds it in, pursing his lips.
‘Then you’ll need a spunky lady biker to trial it, right?’
He looks me up and down. Faint smile flickering. I turn to the display, not ready to be recognised. ‘Leather knickerbockers and flying ace helmet. I’ll be cutting a pace through the bog.’
‘Aye, we can all dream,’ he muses. Then he jolts himself out of the moment and turns away.
‘Got any more like her in your collection?’ I ask. Desperate to keep him talking.
He cocks his head with a thinking frown. ‘Can’t say I have. Even these days you don’t see many lassies riding solo like you.’
‘Ah, I’m not a run-of-the-mill lass.’
