Short Story Sunday: A Bicycle Built for Two

Whenever he was asked to tell the story of how he met Cara, Flick could almost feel the wind in his hair and the judder of the handlebars. As a boy, he loved coasting downhill to the town square, where his presence scattered the nuns and mums like chickens. More than once he had laughed at the fists and shouts thrown in his wake. 



Cara's father owned the shoe shop on the corner of Bialys and Fortune street. Her job was to sweep the cobbles outside the window and straighten the mat. The first time Flick saw her, she was bent over a pile of dirt, sweeping it into a dustpan, as the sun filtered through her diaphanous dress. He crashed into Mrs Jacobi, who called him Devil Boy ever since, and destroyed the trestle table outside the charity shop. It had been worth it because it made her look at him and smile. He felt like he was swimming in a lake of tepid water and her love came at him in waves. 

"Granddad, tell us the story again!"

The family reunions always exhausted him. Too many offspring around the table, down the passage and in the garden. He decided to ignore the clammy hand tugging his arm and feigned sleep. It usually worked. 

"I think he's only pretending," said one.

"Let's check his eyes," said the other.

Sticky fingers prodded. He snorted, but it did not deter them. 

"Give me a chance!"

"Boys!" 

"Yes, mum?"

"Leave Granddad alone. He's old and needs his rest. Run along now and play in the garden."

"But he promised!" said one.

"Promised what?"

"To tell the story." said the other.

She smiled. "Maybe later, when he's had forty winks."

"How many winks has he had already?"

He snorted once more.

"Oh, I'd say about two. Don't worry, chaps. I'll call you the minute Granddad wakes."

Their footfalls thundered away and delighted shrieks followed. He felt a hand on his shoulder and then she left him with his memories.

Where was he? Oh yes: the dress, the sunlight and Cara's smile. He felt a small fizz behind his bellybutton when he thought of that. In fact, when he was with Cara, that feeling never went away.

"Devil Boy! Now look what you have done. Your free-wheeling nonsense will be the death of us all."

"Don't overreact, Mother." Her son, Denis Jacobi, was helping Sarah Little restore the trestle table. "If anything, the lad is lucky to be alive. Everyone knows bicycle brakes fail at the most inopportune times." He winked at Flick.

"Be that as it may, the Devil Boy would do well to save his antics for the fields."

"I am sorry, Mrs Jacobi. The sun was in my eyes."

"Sun was in your eyes? What nonsense."

Before she could mutter further, Denis waved him over. "Help us right the table, will you?"

Sarah examined the charity bric-a-brac and brushed off the dust with her hands. "I'd say there's no harm done. But I think Denis is right. You should have those brakes looked at."

"Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss."

The only thing Flick wanted to look at was Cara. She disappeared inside. Did he dare? He wheeled his bicycle around the fountain and stared. The glare meant he could only just make out her figure behind the counter. 

"May I help you, boy?"

It was Constable Jones. 

"No, sir."

"Some reports of destruction of property and reckless driving have reached my ears."

"It was an accident."

The policeman lowered his voice. "Just doing my job, lad. You know how Mrs Jacobi is. Now look at your feet and shake your head. Quickly, boy. She's watching."

Flick tried hard not to laugh. "Should I wipe away a tear?"

"Go on, then." He raised his voice. "This is the last warning, do you hear?"

Flick nodded. He imagined the line of Mrs Jacobi's mouth and her approving smirk at how he was being given a dressing down by a cop.

"Good, she's gone. Steer clear of Mrs Jacobi. There's a good lad." He whistled and swung his truncheon as he walked away. 

She was in the window. Looking at him. He felt as though he might explode. Her father appeared behind her and led her away. He noticed the same expression Mrs Jacobi wore on his face. Flick knew he had to see her again. His body felt too small for what he was feeling, so he mounted his bicycle and sped down the dust track out of town. The breeze was cool on his face and he spread his arms, hardly noticing the sunflowers nodding as he passed. And then, when the town was only a silhouette on the horizon, he whooped with joy. A wolf's howl that translated to one word: Cara.

He visited her every day for a month. On the first day, he made sure she was watching when he put a piece of paper under a stone on the rim of the fountain. He walked away and watched her slink out of the shop, take the note and smile like a sunrise in Eden. Some days he would leave her a bunch of wildflowers or a pretty river stone. Once he left wild strawberries and another time a butterfly in a jar. 

Then he stopped. He waited in the shadows and watched. The first morning, he could feel her disappointment when she returned to the shop empty-handed. He noticed how she kept looking at the point on the fountain to see whether he would bring her something - anything. On the second day she looked angry. On the third day, she was tearful. 

"Cara." 

She looked at him, her face flickering the kaleidoscope of emotions she kept inside. 

He wondered whether she could hear the fizzing in his belly as he could. Before he knew it, her arms were around his neck and she breathed his name into his hair.

"Come with me."

He helped her onto his handle bars, and felt the warmth of her body as she leant into him. He wanted the dirt track out of town to go on forever.

"Flick." 

It always ended too soon. He opened his eyes. "Cara." He pulled her into his lap.

"You were talking in your sleep."

"What did I say?"

"My name. What were you dreaming?"

He pulled her closer. "I was thinking about my old bicycle - the one with the big handlebars."

"I remember that. We called it the bicycle built for two."

"It wasn't really."

"No. But I liked sitting close to you. Even if it was uncomfortable."

"I have something for you." He dug into his pocket.

"What is it?"

"Guess."

She laughed. "I was never any good at this game."

He took her hand and opened her palm. In it, he placed a packet of sunflower seeds.

Her eyes watered. "After all this time?"

"Always."

"Granddad! Granddad is awake!" 

Four hands tugged at his arm. 

"Come on, Granddad, you promised."

He groaned. Cara got off his lap.

"You promised the story."

"Yes, lads, all right. I will tell you the story of how I crashed my bicycle and got the name Devil Boy."

"Devil Boy!"

"That's right. Now you have to promise to be quiet. My memory isn't what it used to be."

He looked at the crossed legs and wide eyes. Then he looked at Cara. He took a deep breath.

"Once upon a time..."