Run, Mummy, Run (16 page)

‘Act perfectly normal, all right?’ They nodded, and her hand trembled as she took the key from her pocket and turned it in the lock.

As she opened the inner door, she said loud and cheerily, in case Mark could hear. ‘Come on, quickly. I think Daddy might be home.’

She smiled, trying to lighten their load, but their large eyes stared back silent, unblinking and afraid. She closed both doors, then busied herself in the hall, helping James out of his sopping wet shoes and coat. Sarah tried to unbutton her coat, but her cold, wet, shaking fingers refused to cooperate. ‘Here, let me,’ Aisha said, and started to undo the bottom buttons on her coat as Sarah continued fumbling with the top.

They heard the interconnecting door to the garage slam shut in the kitchen and Sarah jumped. James froze and looked as though he might cry again. ‘Sshhh, shhhh,’ Aisha soothed quietly and placed a finger to her lips. She draped their coats over the radiator in the hall to dry as Mark’s footsteps left the tiled floor of the kitchen and disappeared into the carpet of the lounge. Then another sound, the rustle of his nylon overalls, growing closer as he approached the hall. Aisha knew then for certain that he hadn’t just come in, but had had time to change out of his suit and had been tinkering in the garage. Sarah knew it too and gave a little cry.

A few seconds later, Mark appeared through the lounge door and stood in the hall, surveying them.

‘You’re back,’ he said flatly. ‘Where have you been?’

‘To school,’ Aisha said, making her voice light and even. ‘To fetch the children.’

‘No. Before that.’

She looked at him, trying to gauge his mood, but as often happened it was impossible; his controlled expression said nothing beyond he wanted a reply, and offered no clue as to what he was thinking or what lay in store.

‘Before that?’ she said lightly. ‘I went for a walk.’

‘In the rain?’

‘It was nice earlier. I had a headache and wanted some air. I’m sorry. If I’d known you were coming home early I wouldn’t have gone.’

He looked at Sarah and James and then again at her. Any minute now, she thought, any second and he would come towards her and strike. Sometimes he made her wait, as though savouring the delay, like a cat toying with a mouse. She never knew the exact moment when the blow would come, only that it would.

‘Go upstairs and get dried off,’ Aisha said to Sarah and James, wanting them out of the way. Usually she had them in their rooms before Mark came home in the evenings, and at weekends they played upstairs if he was in the house.

The children took a step towards the stairs, then stopped as their father’s arm shot out and blocked their way.

‘Hey. Not so fast,’ he said. ‘What’s the hurry? Don’t you want to see your daddy?’

Aisha instinctively put herself between the children and him and placed an protective arm around each of their shoulders. ‘They’re wet, Mark,’ she said evenly. ‘They need to change.’

‘In a minute. They won’t melt. First they can tell me if they’ve had a good day. That’s what children are supposed to do when they first come in from school.’

Sarah and James said nothing, they just stood looking up at him, large eyes rounded in fear. Aisha gave their shoulders a little squeeze of encouragement.

‘Yes,’ they replied together.

‘My God! You’re like a couple of robots.’ Mark laughed. ‘Put some life into it, for goodness’ sake!’

‘Yes thank you, Daddy,’ Sarah said with more conviction, aware of what was at stake.

‘That’s better,’ Mark said. ‘And what about you, James? Did you enjoy school?’

He nodded and managed a bleated, ‘Yes.’

Mark laughed again and dropped his arm from the stairwell. ‘OK, off you go; go and amuse yourselves. I need to speak to your mother.’

Sarah remained where she was while James ran upstairs. She looked at her mother, waiting for her permission and reassurance. She would never abandon her mother unless she told her to.

‘Go on,’ Aisha nodded. ‘Do as your father says.’

Sarah hesitated again and then went upstairs.

‘Well?’ Mark said, drawing himself up squarely. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me?’

She searched his face, trying to think of what she should be asking. What she had forgotten. The floorboard squeaked overhead as Sarah crossed the landing and went into James’s room.

‘Ask you what?’ she said quietly.

‘Why I have come home early. I mean, I don’t normally. I’m a creature of habit. So what makes me suddenly take a half-day’s leave on a Friday and come home early?’

She heard the ‘half-day’ and felt sick. Half-day. Three, possibly four hours. Not even she could have been walking for that length of time, especially in the rain.

‘What brings you home early?’ she said, her voice slight and unsteady. ‘You don’t normally.’

‘No. Quite so. I don’t. So it must be something pretty big. Very special to bring me home at lunchtime.’

‘Lunchtime,’ she repeated and she felt her knees tremble.

‘Yes.’ He smiled. It was a wide, broad grin, that seemed to hold none of his usual derision, but was doubtless just a different ploy. She never knew exactly how he was going to play it, and this was different again from anything she could remember. ‘I’ve been in the garage all afternoon,’ he confirmed with another grin.

Aisha hadn’t heard James’s bedroom door close and she knew the children were probably both listening. ‘Shall we go into the lounge?’ she said, not wanting them to hear. She walked past him and expected the first blow.

She heard his nylon overalls rustle behind her, but the blow didn’t come. He followed her into the lounge and she turned to face him, putting what distance there was between them.

‘I’ve bought something,’ he said, his voice light and almost jovial. ‘I’ve bought myself a present, a treat, for doing well at work. I collected it at lunchtime and came straight home. It’s in the garage and I want you to be the first to see it.’

She looked at him from across the lounge, studied his face, his body language, for some clue. But there was nothing beyond self-satisfaction and something almost indefinable, which could have been joy.

‘A present?’ she asked lamely. ‘For doing well at work?’

‘Yes. That’s what I said. Come on. You’ve kept me waiting long enough. It’s in the garage and I want you to be the first to see. I’ve been waiting all afternoon.’

He turned, ready to go, while she stayed where she was. The garage. No, she didn’t want to go in there. He kept it locked and she and the children were never normally allowed in. If she went into the garage it would be more difficult to get away. The up-and-over door was down at the front so the only exit was through the kitchen. If he locked or barred that door, she would be trapped with no means of escape.

‘Come on then,’ he said again, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice. ‘I want to get cracking, before it gets dark. Best foot forwards.’

There was no alternative so she followed him. To run now would incite his anger even more, and where would she run to? Not upstairs. She didn’t want the children to witness another assault. And not out of the house because she had already learnt that if she fled the house he locked the doors, and wouldn’t let her in again until the morning.

‘I always wanted another one,’ he called over his shoulder as she followed a few paces behind him. ‘It’s the one thing I promised myself when I could afford it. And now I can!’

He reached the interconnecting door to the garage, but instead of opening it, he turned and stood with his back against it and looked at her. There were still none of the telltale signs which over the years she’d come to recognize – the slight tensing of his brow, the brief narrowing of his eyes, the colour imperceptibly ebbing from his lips, all of which gave her the precious few seconds’ warning to cover herself for protection or to run. But there were none of these.

‘Close your eyes,’ he said. ‘I want it to be a complete surprise. I’ll tell you when to look.’

She followed his instructions and did as he said. She brought up her hands and placed them palms down over her eyelids. Sometimes compliance persuaded him out of it; sometimes, but not always.

‘No peeping,’ he called, his nylon overalls rustling.

She stood a yard or so in front of him, eyes closed and hands blocking out the light. She was even more vulnerable now, unable to see, with no idea where he was and no chance to interpret and cower. She heard the handle on the door lower and then the door creak open. She felt the front of cold air rush in from the garage. And she thought objectively, without emotion, that the saving grace of him attacking her in the garage was that the children wouldn’t have to see or hear.

W
ith her hands covering her face, Aisha heard Mark’s footsteps and sensed his approach. She closed her body down, ready for the attack. Eyes screwed shut and face shielded by her hands, she hunched her shoulders forwards, and brought her elbows inward to protect her stomach. But instead of the expected blow, the first vicious thump that would spearhead the rest, Mark continued past and round her. Stopping just behind her, she felt his hands on her shoulders. ‘You mustn’t look until I tell you,’ he said. ‘I’ll be annoyed if you do.’ His voice was light and his fingers rested gently on her shoulders, his touch just like it used to be a lifetime ago.

She went with him as he eased her forwards, steered her towards the open door. ‘Mind the step,’ he said briefly. ‘We don’t want you tripping over.’

Aisha raised one foot, then the other, and stepped over the small concrete plinth and into the garage. She felt the cold air encase her and smelt stale engine oil combine with more recent exhaust fumes. It crossed her mind that he might be planning to gas her, asphyxiate her with carbon monoxide from the car, but she dismissed it; if and when he did eventually kill her, he’d make it look like an accident – a fall from the top of the stairs or drowning in the bath. Apart from which, the car was outside, and if he raised the garage door, she would make a run for it.

‘Keep your eyes closed until I tell you,’ Mark said again in the same conciliatory tone.

They stopped just inside the garage and his hands left her shoulders as he came round to stand in front of her. She felt him take hold of her arms, just above her wrists, it was still a light touch with no pressure, not his usual painful grip when he was about to hit her. He began edging her sideways to the right, a little down the side of the garage, then stopped. Positioning her with her back against the wall it was as though he was lining her up for something and every muscle in her body tensed. His hands left her arms and he moved away. She heard the door to the kitchen close, then his footsteps recede across the concrete floor, towards the centre of the garage. Her hands were still covering her face and she felt the moisture from her breath condense warm onto her palms. Her heart thudded violently as she strained for any sound that would give her a clue, a hint of what he was about to do, and that crucial second’s warning with its chance of escape.

His footsteps stopped in the middle of the garage and there was a small silence before she heard a sound of crinkling and scraping, as though heavy-duty polythene was being dragged over the concrete garage floor.

‘Nearly ready,’ Mark called, his voice animated with excitement. ‘The great unveiling!’

Aisha’s mind circled and darted as she stood behind her self-imposed blindfold and waited. Her thoughts fled to corners that she hardly dared consider, and where she hadn’t ventured in years. Was it possible that after all this time Mark really did want to show her something? Share a purchase? But he never shared anything with her, not even a thought, unless of course it was another cruel joke, like the Christmas present he had gift-wrapped which had turned out to contain his dirty washing.

‘OK,’ he called. ‘On the count of three you can open your eyes.’ Then: ‘One. Two. Three. You can look now!’

With every muscle taut and ready for flight, Aisha slowly lowered her hands and blinked into the fluorescent light. She blinked again and it took a moment for her to realize, to comprehend what she was seeing. In the middle of the garage, beside a heap of dark blue polythene, Mark stood facing her, feet apart, arms folded across his chest, posing proudly beside a huge, red, gleaming, brand-new motorbike. Aisha blinked again and allowed herself to breathe, then let her arms fall to her sides.

‘Well? What do you think?’ he said grinning. ‘Isn’t she magnificent? Top speed of a hundred and eighty. She’ll do the ton easily.’

Aisha looked at the bike with its immaculate paintwork, glinting chrome and spotless black tyres and didn’t know what to think. She could see the garage reflected in one of the wing mirrors, which stuck out like antlers on either side of the handlebars. She looked between the bike and Mark, and for the briefest of seconds wondered what it had cost.

‘Well?’ he said again, waiting for her reply. ‘Isn’t she absolutely beautiful?’

‘Yes,’ she said at last.

Mark laughed indulgently, and unfolding his arms, relaxed his pose. ‘Come on over here,’ he said, waving for Aisha to join him, ‘and I’ll tell you all about her. You won’t understand the jargon, but believe me, she’s the best. Bikes have come a long way since I was a teenager. I can’t believe I’ve actually got one. It’s been my lifelong ambition to own another, and now I do!’

Aisha could see that he was beside himself with excitement, like a child with a new toy. She moved slowly forwards, towards the centre of the garage, relief and confusion mingling in equal parts. Clearly Mark had treated himself and he wanted to show her. She looked at the shiny toy and thought sadly of everything the children had been denied, and could have wept.

‘Look! Just here!’ he said, squatting down on his haunches and pointing. ‘This model has just been released.’ Aisha bent slightly forwards and saw the name
FIREBLADE
emblazoned in glinting chrome on the side of the bike. ‘It’s the latest,’ Mark exclaimed. ‘I had to put my name on the reserve list nearly a year ago. This will be one of the very first on the road. You won’t see another bike like this, believe me, Aisha. Not for ages.’ He paused, waiting for her response.

She nodded, amazed, not so much by the bike, but that he had actually used her name.

‘Right,’ Mark continued, ‘I’ll explain about the engine first.’ He tapped just below the chrome nameplate. ‘It’s got a 918 cc liquid-cooled, four-stroke engine with new dual concentric valve springs. That means there’s optimum performance through precise valve operation from anywhere in the powerband. When you throttle back it goes like hell. I drove carefully bringing it here, but later I’m going to open it up properly on the motorway.’ He waited again for her reply.

‘I see,’ she said.

‘The manufacturers have used the very latest magnesium ACG for all the casings. Not only on the engine cover but here on the oil pan trim, and here too.’ He tapped various parts of the casing, which to Aisha looked more like thick black plastic or thin metal. ‘It’s reduced the bike’s weight by over 100 grammes. And together with the modified cowls, which are sleeker and more aerodynamic, it has lessened wind resistance, which in turn has made it even faster.’

‘Faster than what?’ Aisha asked, trying to think of a question as Mark paused and looked at her again.

‘The previous models.’

‘I see.’ She nodded again.

‘Now, down here,’ he said, shuffling sideways on his haunches towards the rear of the bike and signalling for her to follow, ‘is the latest pro-link suspension system. It’s mounted in the swing arm, here.’ Another tap. ‘Its effect is to isolate suspension stress, which in a nutshell means sharper handling, particularly on corners.’

Aisha looked at the metal contraption which ran from the bike to the centre of the rear wheel. ‘I understand,’ she said nodding.

‘And of course, there’s the latest anti-locking device on the breaking system. I mean, you couldn’t have this much power without it.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘You couldn’t.’

Mark stood and straightened. Aisha followed suit. ‘Now to the front and the headlamps,’ he said.

He ran his hand up from the rear, over the leather seat and towards the front, caressing the bike like the outline of a curvaceous woman. Aisha followed him round so that they were both at the front, facing the bike head on. She was standing so close to him now she could smell his aftershave, the same brand he had used since they’d first met, a poignant, bittersweet reminder of what used to be. For years she’d only smelt it in the bathroom after he’d been in there in the morning, and at other times when he was this close to her it was her fear she smelt.

‘The headlights are slim, low-profile, dual-line beam, multi-reflector,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘They combine to project a more brilliant, aggressive forward image. You’ll appreciate, Aisha, that on a bike they serve a double purpose. Not only do they allow the rider to see, but more importantly to be seen. Most accidents involving bikes aren’t the rider’s fault, but happen when a car or lorry doesn’t see them and suddenly pulls out. This system increases the bike’s visibility considerably.’

‘Yes.’ She looked sideways at him as he continued with the advantages of the 43 mm HMAS front fork, which she understood was something to do with the steering. Mark was talking to her, using her name, making eye contact and touching her arm, wanting to draw her into his excitement. He pointed out the ‘state-of-the-art immobilizer’ so that the bike couldn’t be stolen, and she began to wonder. Was it possible that in fulfilling his lifetime ambition, reaching the fruition of his dreams, Mark had resolved an inner conflict, one born of frustrated desires, and had turned a corner? Was it possible that this was his way of reaching out to her, an olive branch of shared attainment, his way of bridging the gap? She allowed herself to be drawn further into his enthusiasm and wondered some more.

‘This is the automatic ignition,’ Mark said. ‘I’ll give you a blast.’

‘So you don’t have to kick-start them anymore?’ she asked, remembering the lads who had owned old motorbikes at university and could never get them started.

Mark laughed, but not unkindly. ‘No, that was years ago. Have a listen to this.’ He took a key from his overall pocket, and inserting it in the lock, fired the engine. She started as the bike burst into life, a deep and very powerful throb that reverberated around the garage walls.

‘Mark, the children will wonder what’s going on,’ she shouted over the engine noise.

Mark laughed, and giving the engine a couple more revs, turned it off. He moved down the side of the bike again, caressing the leather seat as he went. ‘Well, that’s the tour over,’ he said, glancing up. ‘What do you think, Aisha? Impressed eh?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ she enthused. ‘I can see why you’re so excited.’

He looked very pleased, and as she watched him, standing in awe of his bike he suddenly seemed disarmingly childlike. She caught another glimpse of the old Mark, the one she used to know, who was vulnerable in his masculinity, and kind to her. And her heart softened and began to yearn for everything that had been and could possibly be again. It didn’t matter that he had spent a fortune on the bike, for doubtless he would make it up to them in his way, another time – if this was truly the turning point as she now desperately wanted to believe.

‘I’m glad you approve,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to take her out and see what she can do.’

‘Yes, but be careful – it’s raining out there, you know,’ she said, which she recognized as something her mother would have said – the limiting note of caution.

He laughed again. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ve bought all the gear. Stay there and I’ll show you. You can tell me what you think.’

Aisha watched as Mark strolled proudly to the rear of the garage and retrieved a large parcel from the beneath the shelves of tools. The brown paper had been loosely rewrapped and Aisha remembered the parcel arriving by express delivery at the beginning of the week. She’d had to answer the door, and when she’d given it to Mark that evening, he had actually thanked her. The paper rustled as he shook out the contents, and then held it up against him. It was an all-in-one zip-up leather suit. Red, exactly the same shade as the bike, but with luminous white flashes running the length of each side. He winked at her, and kicking off his shoes, stepped out of his overalls and into the suit, zipping it up to the neck. He posed again before her, arms folded and legs apart, proudly wanting her to see and appreciate. If Aisha thought a balding, middle-aged man, clad from head to foot in tight red leather looked faintly ludicrous, she certainly didn’t say.

‘Amazing,’ she said and smiled approvingly and prayed this really was the turning point.

‘Boots,’ Mark said, returning to the shelves and picking up a large cardboard box. ‘Knee-length, to give added protection. The lower leg is the most vulnerable part of a rider, although this bike’s cowls offer better coverage than most.’

Aisha watched intently as he lifted the lid off the oblong box and took out a pair of long black leather boots. Placing them at his feet, he stepped in, one at a time and drew up the inside zips.

‘Now the helmet,’ he said. ‘Obviously the most important accessory of all. It has three-density energy absorption and is made from the latest high-grade polycarbonate, which means it’s virtually impenetrable.’

He took another box from beneath the bench – this one had a photo of the helmet on the side – and carefully took out the helmet. Not red this time, but metallic silver, with an almost-black visor. It was very large and looked an odd shape, she thought, elongated to the front.

‘To protect the whole of this area,’ he explained, rubbing his chin and neck. The helmet’s silver casing glinted in the fluorescent light, but Mark didn’t put it on, instead he tucked it under his left arm, and assumed the pose of a triumphant Grand Prix winner.

‘Well? What do you think?’ he asked, his eyes sparkling in the light as he waited for her approval.

‘Very smart indeed,’ she said, and clasped her hands together in admiration. ‘Not only do you look the part, but it will obviously give you excellent protection. And keep you warm?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I haven’t bought the gauntlets yet, you know – the gloves bikers wear. I’ve had to order them, they didn’t have my size in red. I’ll use ordinary leather gloves for now.’

‘Very sensible and so smart,’ she said again. Aisha knew that appearance had always mattered to Mark as much as practicality.

He smiled. ‘I’m so glad you approve. I thought you would.’

Standing there in the strange intimacy of the garage, feeling included and appreciated, she was sure now. In realizing his dream, it was the answer to hers, and they could reset the clock and begin again. They hadn’t been this emotionally close for a long time, not since their troubles had begun, and it was impossible it could be anything else – his sincerity and openness were so obvious and intense. This was his way of reaching out to her, of saying he was sorry and he hoped they could repair the damage and be a couple again. Aisha’s thoughts went fleetingly to the monk who at this very moment was preparing a room for her and the children. She would have to write later and apologize, explain what had happened – that she and Mark had finally found a way forwards – and she would return the monk’s five-pound note. She knew the monk would understand, and she might even take the children one day to meet him – a day’s outing in the school holidays. She was sure they would like to see the monk, and he them.