Chapter Five
Nick opened her blinds and looked at the wind and rain tipping it down. So much for accurate weather forecasting. Nick could tell which way entire countries would react to world events, but whether it would rain the following day seemed to elude the good folks in the Met Office. All her cycling gear was already laid out but now her heart wasn’t in it. The weather was atrocious.
She made her bed then showered. As she stepped out, she looked at her hair gel and realised she probably needed to bin it. Now that she was growing her hair long, she no longer used so much product. Instead, she grabbed a hairband to pull it back off her face and popped in her contacts.
One of the things that bugged her about her new apartment was the lack of radiators – there was nowhere to hang her towels and wet clothes. Instead, she draped it over a hook and wondered for the umpteenth time what was so special about underfloor heating. It seemed extravagant and impractical. She appreciated the efficiency of design, and the fact that her flat walls were unimpeded by lumpy bits of metal. But nothing beat a radiator for hanging wet socks on, or for snuggling up against with a book in hand and a mug of hot chocolate.
In the kitchen she looked at her soaked oats and the banana ready to be sliced into the porridge for breakfast and then saw the bottle of red wine. To hell with it, her twenty-eighth year was going to be different. She was going to shake things up. She poured herself a glass and put some bacon under the grill. Two glasses of wine later and one bacon butty, her body decided that it didn’t like things to be shaken up and she found herself back in the bathroom vomiting.
Back in the kitchen she poured the rest of the bottle down the sink. She might live alone but that was no call to act like a stereotypical single white female with a drink problem. Hell, she may as well install the cat now. Nick took some aspirin, a pint of water and changed into her cycling clothes.
As she opened the main door, she wondered about the wisdom of this idea. She looked at the rain and then thought back to the flat with the blond furniture and the empty walls. Swinging her leg up over the saddle, she set off heading east. Her initial plan had been to make it to Orford Ness. She and Paddy had been there once on a school trip and it had rained then as well. There wasn’t a chance of making it that far today though, with the wind and the late start, but she’d still be able to get out of the city and stretch her body and her mind. Nick had only got into cycling in the past few years, but she loved the speed that she could achieve just through using her own body. It reminded her of when she used to run downhill. That same giddy sense of being only a step away from flying.
The roads were quieter than normal, it being a Saturday and the weather being so foul, but she smiled and nodded at the other cyclists and joggers that were out making the most of their day. One of the gutters ahead had become blocked and a large puddle spread out across the road. Checking behind that there were no cars she pulled out into the middle of the road to avoid it. Out of nowhere a car swerved alongside her, its strident horn sounding over the wind. She didn’t know if the car clipped her wheel but in that instant she lost control of the bike and felt herself falling at speed towards the ground. She rolled once, the rough tarmac surface tearing at her face and body, and for a second felt too shaken to move. In the distance she could see the lights of the car speed away around the corner and she realised she was sitting in the puddle, her bike further ahead in the middle of the road.
‘Are you okay?’
Nick looked up at a cyclist who had crouched down beside her. His friend had run out into the road and recovered her bike and soon she was surrounded by a group of five cyclists, all checking her and her bike over.
‘We saw the whole thing. That moron came screaming out of a side street. Honestly, you wouldn’t have seen him coming when you pulled out.’
‘I’ve got the whole thing on camera,’ said an older man.
Nick smiled weakly, she had a helmet cam as well, but given that she had been clipped from behind the chances were that the footage would only show her rapidly approaching the tarmac and then cloudy skies above. Suddenly the idea of her head lying on one of London’s highways filled her stomach and she threw up.
‘That’s just the fear. I threw up as well when I got hit,’ said a younger man. ‘Come on, let’s get you off the road.’ Two of the cyclists had been directing traffic around her but now they all moved to the safety of the pavement.
‘I’ve never come off my bike before. Oh God, is my bike okay?’ Nick and the others looked over to where two of the cyclists were fiddling with it .
One of the girls smiled at her. ‘The frame looks good, but the car drove over the wheel, so that’s buggered. How far from home are you?’
Nick looked around. She was about two miles away, but she wasn’t going to tell them that. She knew if she did they would try to help her get back and right now she just wanted to be on her own. Her elbow was killing her although she didn’t think it was broken, the same was true for her hip and knee.
‘About half a mile. I’ll walk home and run a bath.’
‘Would you like me to walk back with you?’ asked one of the men. He had an eager smile and he’d spent the last five minutes asking if he could help. ‘It won’t be a bother.’
The third time he asked, one of the girls caught Nick’s small frown and slapped him on the leg.
‘Leave the poor girl alone. Hasn’t she suffered enough?’
Nick smiled at her gratefully, then the girl gave Nick her number. ‘I’m Max. We cycle out every Saturday. Join us if you want. More the merrier. I’ll forward you the footage of the crash as well so you can report the driver.’
As she waved goodbye, she watched as they grouped up and continued their ride out of London, all rear lights blinking red, reflective strips on the spokes of the wheels and bright neon lycra suits. They looked like a shoal of fish, flashing through the dark waters of a stormy sea.
Leaning on her bike she began to limp home. She wondered if she should have been friendlier to the guy that kept offering to walk her back. Was this why her dates always fizzled out, because she was too stand-offish? As she slowly walked along the pavement, she considered it but no – she had seen the initial look of surprise as she’d stood and looked him in the eyes. She’d been on too many dates were men professed to not care about her height, as though it was an actual issue, but then by the second week were complaining that she was too masculine. Or too focussed on work. It was incredible. If the man was late for a date, it was because something important had cropped up at work. The implication being that they were special and vital, that work couldn’t manage without them. If Nick did the same thing, the same man would feel slighted that he wasn’t the most important thing in her life. The double standard always floored her. She was getting to the point where she despaired of ever meeting anyone worth the effort. Who knew a tall, good-looking, financially successful woman could be so off-putting? She wanted to curse her height, all through school she had been a beanpole, much like Paddy, but Paddy had never been short of dates or friends. It was lazy to blame outward appearances for her current situation, it was simply a personality thing. Nick had cultivated this quiet, private persona and now she had somehow become shut in by it.
After two pairs of cyclists stopped to ask if she was all right, she began to feel, if not better, at least a small outreach part of a community that had her back. She had never been one for team sports, but this sense of camaraderie helped distract her from the pain in her body. Nothing, however, could help her feelings of stupidity and embarrassment. Was she over the limit? Had her morning wine contributed to the accident? Nick stopped in a moment of horrible self-realisation. She was a sad, lonely, stereotype. A single female, drunk on a Saturday morning with nothing in her life beyond her work. There wasn’t even anyone she could phone up to come over and commiserate with.
Eventually, she made it back to her apartment. She had made a small detour to her local bike shop and handed it over for repairs. Declining an offer of cake and coffee she continued to limp home. She thanked her lucky stars that the concierge was occupied and opted for the lift rather than the stairs – she didn’t think she could recount the story a fourth time. Once in her flat she stripped out of her clothes, slowly and painfully. Naked, she walked to the bathroom, if her neighbours in the block opposite caught a glimpse of her right now she couldn’t give a damn. In the mirror she sucked her teeth as she looked at the grazes and the bruises already beginning to show.
After her bath she put on her dressing gown, sod getting dressed. This weekend was already over as far as she was concerned. Making a cup of hot chocolate, she put some macaroni cheese in the microwave and hit play on The Princess Bride , a family favourite. Right now she would trade everything she had achieved to have someone by her side doing everything for her, helping her with the plasters as she sat on the sofa and nursed her bruises.
So far, being twenty-seven was not that impressive.