Trevor White

 EVENING

"How bloody daft can you get?", he muttered out loud. Although waiting a moment, no comforting answer could be heard above the sound of the engine and the wind rushing past his helmet. Reckoning on removing at least one uncertainty from his life, he then answered the question himself. "About as daft as me!" This time, as the bike rushed past a row of stark trees and the engine noise echoed back, he did get a huskily whispered agreement. "Right! … right! … right! …" Under his misty visor his face screwed up with a wry, self-mocking smile.

Right! The work at the office needed doing - but it hadn’t been that urgent. Certainly not enough to stay so late. Then, what had got into him? Why, at that late hour, had he responded to an impulse to take those back-roads north out of Yeovil? It was neither the time nor season for exploration. He didn’t need any new experiences at the moment. He wanted to sink down into the familiar – not thinking – not feeling – not even knowing.

Right! The forecast had been for a stormy, wintry night – as so it was. He always counted on forecasts being 50/50 right or wrong. But why were they always right with promises of bad weather and always wrong when it came to good weather? Murphy’s Law! There again, even though it was a holiday weekend, what was worse? This storm and cold or going home early to more stormy arguments and chilly silences? He shivered so hard that the bike wavered on its line. Shivering again, he cursed as he noticed the drizzle turning to sleet.

What was it between him and Marie? Then, as he had unwillingly noticed many times before, he caught himself feeling a flush of warmth at the thought of her. And, like many times before, he pushed it away. After all, it was she who had changed, damn it! And what did she really want now?

His mind drifted back, to their early days. He remembered introducing her to motorcycling and all the giggling "Should I .. ?", "No, I can’t …", "Well, just around the block … ". And in no time she had the bug! He hadn’t dared to suggest a honeymoon on the bike, but after their lazy, loving Saturdays, it was often she who prised him out of the cosy chaos of the Sunday-morning bed to go for a run. Both knew that his bridling half-complaints were part of the games they played.

Not since ‘The Baby’ had it been the same. They had delighted so much in the news. They had shared getting the nursery ready. They had wandered around the maternity stores giggling at the tinyness of the clothes and grimacing at the size of the prices. He teased away some of her self-doubts by saying that her belly was getting more shapely and beautiful than the tank of a Velocette Venom – and began to spend even more time caressing her than his motorcycles. He had even participated in prenatal classes. Marie’s job in the whole procedure was pretty clear. He had to learn about his. This was going to be the ultimate togetherness.

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