Chapter Eight Motorcycle Mama
‘It was the silence that I wasn’t ready for.’ Josie is telling a customer about her trip to Finland. She was completely overwhelmed by the time she spent in Levi and, for the week that she’s been back, has not stopped gushing about it, which is absolutely fantastic as there are still people looking for a winter break. When Josie shows them the photographs she’s taken then tells them about the dogsledding, the Ice Hotel and the possibility of seeing the Northern lights, we get a few more bookings.
‘So, my little antipodean friend,’ says Charlie, ‘are you a convert to ice and snow now?’
‘Not the slushy grey stuff you get in this country, but honestly — you and Pete should go. I can picture you in matching Sámi outfits herding your reindeer.’
She holds up a picture of the indigenous Sámi in traditional dress and Charlie scowls at her.
‘Not sure I could possibly be seen in that amount of embroidery, but I like the boots.’
‘Plus, I don’t think they do a flat white in the Arctic Circle,’ I add. ‘So that might be a deciding factor.’
‘Oh, I’m definitely out,’ Charlie says. ‘Talking of which, coffee anyone?’
I say no; I usually work all day Saturday but I’ve taken a half day today as we’re doing one of mum’s bucket list items. I wanted to show her we were taking it seriously — and at the back of my mind, I’m hoping that by giving her a bit of excitement with the easy things on the list, she’ll decide she doesn’t really want to go as far as having an affair. I still can’t believe my mother actually wants to do this but everyone else seems to find it hilarious.
‘You’re joking,’ exclaimed Josie when I told them both during one of our coffee breaks.
‘Good on the old girl,’ adds Charlie. ‘I hope I’m still being scandalous when I’m her age.’
‘It’s not good,’ I say earnestly. ‘It’s awful. And the worst part is she expects me to facilitate it.’
‘Are you gonna put her onto a dating app?’ Josie asks. My eyes widen. ‘I can’t think of any other way of doing it and there must be one for oldies.’
‘Really?’ I swallow hard.
‘Yeah,’ quips Charlie. ‘It’s called Carbon Dating.’
He gets a high five from Josie as I try to ignore them both. I’d like to ask Patty how she intends to make this happen but she’s told me to keep my nose out of it as it’s her item to sort and she knows I’ll just try to stop it happening.
I tidy my desk, pick up my things and ask the guys to wish me luck. Charlie starts singing ‘Born to Be Wild’as he heads out to the break room.
* * *
I start with Mum’s desire to ride a motorbike, as at least I know she’ll be safe with Ed. He finds it as amusing as everyone else but agrees to help and to rally some of his biker friends to make it happen. I can’t have Mum going out alone so Patty and I plan to be with her. Ed’s chapter are having a ride-out this afternoon and will end up at a pub in the countryside where there’ll be a rock band playing. So Mum will get the whole experience of being out with a biker gang. And even though it’s been a very mild January, I’m hoping it will be cold enough to put her off going out again. I’ve never known my mum to abandon her creature comforts, so today should be interesting.
We’re all meeting at Patty’s to get dressed for the occasion. In my mind this means ensuring my elderly mother is wearing several layers of thermals but it doesn’t seem to be what she or Patty are planning. I hear them up in the bathroom when I open the front door and go up to investigate.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask as I walk in.
‘Making your mum look a bit more rock and roll,’ replies Patty, pausing to look up at me with a can of coloured hairspray in her hand. I peer behind her and my eyes almost pop out of my head when I see my mother with green, red and purple streaks across her head.
‘Does that come out?’ I ask in horror.
‘You don’t half sound like an old woman,’ chortles my mum. ‘I used to say that to you when you dyed your hair.’
This is true. Whenever I experimented with hair dye kits as a teenager, Dad would simply say, ‘That looks nice, love,’ whereas Mum would say, ‘I hope you can get your money back,’ or if it was really bad, ‘That had better be temporary, young lady.’ It has finally happened — I sound like my mother.
‘Do you want some?’ asks Patty, turning the spray can onto her own hair. ‘I thought I’d just do the fringe and the ends so the parts that stick out of the helmet look a bit grungy. Can you do the back for me, Mrs S?’
My mum obliges, giving my best friend bright red tips and doing such a good job of it that Patty actually suits her new look. They stand together admiring their rainbow tresses in the bathroom mirror and when I move next to them, I look so boring and sensible in comparison that I grab the green can and give myself a money piece — a couple of highlights that frame my face. Not too adventurous, but I feel like one of the gang. Next stop, Patty’s bedroom.
She has managed to get hold of some pleather trousers for Mum and a flying jacket with a sheepskin lining. I’m so relieved; at least Mum will be warm.
‘Where did you get all of this?’ I ask.
‘Vinted,’ Patty says. ‘I’ll just sell it all again later.’
Mum is admiring herself in the new get-up, and I have to admit that if she really needed to feel that she was breaking free of the stereotypes that surround older women, this is a pretty good way of doing it.
Patty gives her sturdy boots and big gloves but Mum rejects them, preferring her own wool-lined winter gloves.
‘At least these fit,’ she explains.
I can’t help but smile at the dinky little gloves with silver buttons peeping out of the enormous jacket, and I begin to lose my sense of dread. I’m actually looking forward to this.
The roar of engines coming down the street has us squealing with excitement and rushing to the window to watch Ed and his friends approaching the house. Mum’s eyes light up and I can tell from the flush in her cheeks that she is utterly delighted with what is going on and the fact that Patty’s neighbours have come to their windows to see what all the noise is. As Mum and Patty go out to greet the bikers, I make a discreet call to Dad and tell him we’re on our way out. After getting Mum’s bucket list, I had to call and ask him if he knew about it. He told me that she’d kept the contents private but mentioned that she was doing it. I ventured to tell him about the list but he stopped me and said he respected Mum’s wish and that after fifty-five years together he doubted anything she’d written would surprise him. I didn’t like to add that I thought at least one of the items would. I just promised to keep her safe.
And I think the safety of my practically octogenarian mother was also on Ed’s mind when he selected the friends to take part in this. The bike they’ve selected for Mum isn’t a bike — it’s a trike and it is magnificent. With its gleaming electric-blue body and shiny chrome pipes, it is simply stunning. It’s painted with some Nordic pattern and the man who stands beside it looks every inch a Viking. He’s tall, with long blond hair and a braided beard, and when he holds out his bear-sized hand to shake my mother’s, I notice he has runic symbols tattooed on each finger. He tells her that he loves her hair and Mum quietly thanks him. She’s dwarfed by him, and I think the excitement she was showing earlier has been replaced by a little trepidation.
‘You’re going to be in good hands with Eric, Mrs Shepherd,’ Ed tells her as he helps her up onto the pillion seat.
I feel quite at ease now; the pillion seat is like a big armchair and I imagine the trike itself can’t take corners at any scary angle, so I think Mum will be perfectly safe.
‘Eric will look after her,’ Ed says quietly. ‘He volunteers for the Make a Wish charity — lots of people want to go out on a Harley, so he’s used to it.’
I could hug this man. Despite our not making it to second base (do I really still say things like that? Apparently so), I can’t deny he’s a nice guy.
Patty and I mount the back of the bikes allocated to us — and she cannot resist a line about getting her leg over — then we’re off.
It is cold when we get going, no matter how many layers we’re sporting, so I’m glad when we get to our destination. I check that Mum is warm enough and she tells me that she’s completely toasty as her seat was actually heated. I might just wrestle her for it on the way back.
Inside the pub are a crowd of leather-clad men and women as well as some civvies. I can’t be certain but by the look of some of the other civilians, I think there might be a couple from that charity here. A man my age catches my eye as I’m surveying the crowd then nods at me so I return the greeting and walk over to him.
‘Do you have someone here?’ he asks and I tell him it’s my mum. He tells me he’s with his brother and points him out. From the lack of hair and eyebrows I guess he’s had cancer, which the man confirms.
‘Not sure how long he has but this is what he wanted to do; they’re an amazing bunch of people,’ the man says, and as I watch the brother cheering to the band who’ve just walked on stage, I realise just how true that statement is.
Grateful that my mum is only suffering from late-onset boredom, I head back to her and Eric. They start at the front near the stage and after a few very loud chords move to the back of the room and sit down, much to my relief. This biker music really isn’t my scene at all and I’m wondering whether I’ll be able to hear anything in the morning after this. Patty appears with a GT in her hand.
‘The problem with biking is that if you’re at the front driving you can’t drink at all, and if you’re on the back you can only have one just in case you go sliding off when you go round a roundabout,’ she says, as if it’s a newly discovered scientific phenomenon. ‘They’re not really bad boys, are they?’
‘We can be,’ growls a passer-by with a wink.
The band starts playing a song that I actually know and I can feel the Numskulls flicking through the filing cabinet in my head to try and establish where I know it from.
‘Oh, we had this record,’ declares Mum and instantly I recall Dad playing it on our record player.
‘Your dad rushed out when it was first released and bought it from the record shop,’ she continues with a wistful smile on her face. ‘It had one of those big holes in the middle.’
‘Credence Clearwater Revival? You had an original copy of this song?’ asks Eric, looking impressed.
‘Oh, I don’t know who it is, but it was this song and he must have bought it around nineteen sixty-eight?’
‘Sixty-nine,’ Eric says. ‘That’s when it came out. Do you still have it?’
‘Oh, I never get rid of anything,’ replies Mum truthfully. ‘It’ll be in the attic somewhere with all of his other records. You can come and have a look if you like.’
Eric says that he’d love to, so Mum gives this Viking her phone number, which is something I never thought I’d see. I was just thinking that I’d better warn Dad what has happened when Mum rubs my arm and says, ‘Thank you, this has been lovely. I really must bring your dad here one day.’
And although I know she won’t set foot in this bar ever again, I’m mightily relieved to hear that the person she wants to share it with is Dad.