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‘Yeah, right pally, asking me how I was doing. Seemed chuffed I’d landed a workshop job in Birmingham.’
‘Who’d have thought it? All grown-up and totally legit.’ I can picture him when he lived with us. Just turned sixteen and slamming the door on all the do-goody professionals. Mum getting me to persuade him this one had something proper to offer.
‘Still find it weird: one minute I’m being done for joy riding and then all of sudden they’re putting me through me bike test and training me up as a mechanic. Not what you expect of the cops.’
‘Well, you’ve done yourself proud.’
‘Drink to that, Sis!’ We clink glasses. ‘Big cheer to you and your mam and all.’
Martin’s mother has struggled all his life. He was like sent from here to there and back to her until her next collapse. Could have been my life if Alice had lived. How have I never thought that before?
‘Know something?’ I say. ‘Whatever you’ve been through, you’ve never said a bad word about your mum.’
He shrugs. ‘She’s me mam, i’nt she?’ He tilts his empty glass at me. ‘Time for one more?’
He’s off to the bar before I can offer. I lean against the wall, feel its coolness against my back. Alice, fucked from the start with drink and drugs and dead before I could remember. Just blurred images from the access visits. Now Ken’s version of her, working its way through like a shard of glass. Not going there. Isn’t that the point of the bike?
Martin comes back with two fresh pints. Rubs his sweaty face on his T shirt sleeve. Long swig of his drink.
‘Beginning to feel half human.’ He smacks his lips. ‘Crackin’ ride though. Fooking beast of a bike, I’d lose me license soon as look if it were mine.’
‘So how about I give you the money to buy it for me? I pay you to teach me to ride it, right, then I fuck off to Scotland on it.’
‘You are off your bleeding nut, Jez? Apart from you having upwards of sixteen grand, I don’t think so, there is no way you can get your full bike licence in a week, even with Direct Access.’
‘But you know I can ride, you said I was a natural.’
‘Yeah, that Honda 90 I got you?’
I remind him that he also taught me to ride his 125 round Tesco car park. And that I did my CBT when I was with Stan.
‘Stan let me ride his CB 500 on the top roads. It’s all still there.’ I point to my head, then lean forward, grasping imaginary handlebars. Grin up at him as I counter-steer into a bend.
His frown squeezes sweat into furrows on his forehead. ‘Yeah, and I’m betting you haven’t ridden since you left Blackburn in a hurry after you got with that crazy Angel character.’
‘I had to sell the frigging Honda to pay my fare to Liverpool.’
‘Jez, the VMax is over 1600cc, weighs a fucking ton and a half, and accelerates like death. Too fast into a corner and you willbe strawberry jam.’
‘It’s up to me isn’t it?’ First thing I thought of when I got Ken’s gold. And it’s there in the showroom down the road.
Martin sighs. ‘So off you go, buy the bike, get your licence. But you can leave me out of it.’
He downs the last of his shandy and gets up to go.
‘Martin, wait.’ I pull the mini bank statement out of my pocket.
There it is, clear as you like. Deposit of £21,490 today. Martin stares at it, scratches his head, and stares some more.
‘What the fuck have you been up to, Jez?’
‘Nowt dodgy like, you don’t need to know.’
‘Oh, is that right? I’m to put my name to a bike and teach you to ride it illegally and I don’t need to know how you’ve got twenty-one grand.’ He picks up his jacket and helmet.
‘Martin, please, I’ve done nowt wrong.’
‘Fine by me. I’ll not be buying the bike in any case.’
