CHAPTER 17
All too soon we were back in the UK, and once again I had no problems with entry. My passport went under a little scanner, I was asked to pull my hair back a bit, and that was it. Once my details were sorted, those little dangly details, I would still get a new passport as soon as possible. Mum and Dad collected us at the airport.

“We have news for you, my dears. The York house is now on the market.”

Pete was overjoyed. “When are you moving, Dad?”

“Er, yesterday, son. Roger’s already in the hot seat up there, I just had to make sure he was up to speed before I got out”

“So I assume you’ve got loads of stuff to bring down? Need anything dragging, we’re off till after September.”

“No, that’s OK, son, there are removal firms, but I wouldn’t mind showing the girls the old place before we finally sell it. I was thinking of taking a drive up next week, if you fancy it”

“That would be great, there are some pubs I haven’t seen for a while!”

Men. Beer. I must admit, though, that I did rather fancy a look at the city, reputedly rather lovely. Doing it from a family home would be preferable to having to suffer a luxury hotel, wouldn’t it? I realised that the time in the Lythe Hill spa and Rock Hotel was spoiling me. Back to reality, Laura, you have your own laundry to do now.

A few days later and Mum and I were both bored rigid in the back of the Landrover, and I was idly wondering when I could get out on my bike again before my arse got too fat. Too much good living, too little exercise. Dad pulled off the motorway at last, swinging past Sherburn until we got onto some charming little country roads. This would be good cycling country. The House was by Acaster Malbis, near a river and surrounded by arable land. It was gorgeous, but I did wonder what it was like after harvest and Winter stripped the fields.

It was a serious house, too, an old rectory built in stone with a slate roof. I shuddered to think of its value, but if it was a good indication of how well Dad’s business was doing we were marrying into money. I mean, my father’s old business after the bastard had…died had left Mum rather comfortably off, but this was on a different scale. Besides which, as Dad had the good sense to keep his business running but with someone else’s hand at the tiller, he would continue to be well off.

There was a new range of titanium bikes out….

The house was a little musty, and I wondered how much of our holiday time had been used by the two old lovers to make up for that lost time. I also resolved to check my knicker drawer for any loss or damage; that revelation was still making me chuckle.

Pete being a little worn, we pushed him round to the Ship pub that evening, for a very simple pub meal and some beer for the men. The meal was more than acceptable, and we sat outside on some rickety old picnic tables in the late Summer warmth. I still hadn’t seen the city, yet, but Dad was clearly giving up a great deal by joining Mum. It was one more thing that warmed me, let me realise that he loved her deeply, and once more, in my imagination, I visited my father’s grave.

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The next day, Dad and Pete took us on the shorter form of the grand tour. It was clearly a tourist city, with all the attendant ‘experiences’ and ‘original oldes’, but there was still a soul there, beneath the tackiness. We passed over Lendal Bridge to see some of the old walls, which we obviously couldn’t walk, and continued up Museum Street to the Minster, which was a delight.

I like the cool quiet in old churches, and there were little flashes of Odd John as I saw the logic of the structure. All built by hand and eye. I felt rather inadequate, till I considered that the same eye for a structure such as a flying buttress was also behind more important delights such as the shoes I was then wearing. Delicate grace, arching beauty, what more could a girl hope for?

We took an early lunch in tea rooms in the Shambles, and then Dad took us to what he called his favourite place, the Castle Museum, unusual in containing entire ‘streets’ from various dates, and a large costume collection. Despite my reply to my mother, I was indeed thinking about wedding dresses. November wasn’t that far away, and I had absolutely no intention of making it a long engagement, even if I had fallen for a man who definitely could not run away.

And so back to Hampshire, with some small items from the house and rather a lot of black pudding, and as I felt the extra flesh wobbling on my arse I had an idea. Two days after we were back I put it into practice.

What is the point of living in a National Park full of cycle routes if you don’t ride them? I had spent part of the previous day on the phone to a place in Brockenhurst, a cycle hire and retail centre. They did all sorts of odd things, including a sociable ‘tandem’, a bicycle where the two riders sit side by side, and I had had a moment of inspiration. True to their reputation, they had two at one of the other shops in the chain, and they had one brought over. I put some riding kit in a bag that afternoon and told my man to get driving.

Coming through Lyndhurst from the Totton/Ashurst side is quick, it’s the return that is a sod. We parked naughtily behind The Foresters, and once in the shop I identified myself, which still gave me a thrill, and the manager appeared.

“Hello, Laura, I’m Eric. We have them in, they came this morning. Is this who they are for?”

“Yes, this is my fiancé, Pete, he has some mobility challenges”

Eric was looking at Pete, critically. “Above the knee, mate?”

Pete winced. “Yeah”

“Sorry to hear that, it makes pedals a bit of a non-starter without a really special leg. Have a look over in the workshop”

They did look the part, when he got them out. Two different makes of hand-cranked trike. Pete’s face lit up.

“Laura, you are a bloody genius! This is serious shit!”

Boys, toys. Face shining, he turned to Eric. “Any chance of a test ride on them?”

He laughed. “I rather assumed it was what your lady brought you down here for! Of course, we don’t sell much of the really specialist stuff, so we only get it in for order. See that in the window?”

He pointed to what I recognised as a rather expensive fixed-wheel bike. “Somebody, no longer with us, ordered that one on spec, and it’s been stuck there for two years depreciating the shit out of us. These two are hire items. If they work for you, we will sit down together and look at what is available. Only then will I be ordering anything in”

“Are you going to wait here, love?”

“No, Pete, I’m just off to the pub to use the ladies’ “

When I got back, in my rather nice pink and black top and skort, Pete understood what was going on. Eric provided me with a mountain bike and off we went. The trike was set up for off road use, with mountain-bike style tyres, and as I led Pete past the Balmer Lawn and off the road he seemed to be coping, and indeed as he became more familiar with the gears he was making a reasonable speed. We climbed a little as we came around the back of Holland’s Wood, and then we were deep into the trees, a deer sprinting off as we rounded one of the bends. We paused so Pete could let me know how he was doing, and I saw a grin almost as big as the one he had had at Bovington. That told me everything.

“We’ve got some gates ahead, love, and then quite a fast downhill into the camp site, so don’t go silly”

What a bloody stupid thing to say. He took the hill at full tilt, and only avoided hitting the closed gate at the bottom with a sideways skid that would have pleased a speedway rider. When I arrived, he was dripping with sweat and grinning like a lunatic.

“This is fantastic! So much more fun than the chair! I just need to find the handling limits”

Oh bugger. “I rather think you’re starting to get close to them, and you are too heavy for me to lift, so slow down! Now, there is actually a speed limit on this next bit, plus road humps, so be careful. I want to see how fast you can get her on the main road back to the bike shop, and I can’t do that if you are wrapped round a tree”

Through the camp site, and I followed Pete as he wound it up. Bent forward out of his seat, sweat soaking his hair, by my computer he peaked, on a very slight downhill, at 20mph. There was no way he could sustain that, and he dropped back immediately to a more sedate cruise of around 14 to 15. We turned off just before the level crossing and pulled up outside the shop. Eric looked at Pete, then at me, and smiled.

“That’ll be a sale, then”

A week later we began our proper exploration of our new home. That would keep my bum under control.

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The Summer died in a real conflagration of Forest leaves, and we were both back at college, often riding in together as Pete’s fitness improved and he got used to the traffic. And then it was November. Mary wrote me off….and I found myself lying on a trolley looking at ceiling tiles as my mind fuzzed off with the premed.

They gave me some sort of gas. It smelled green.

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An internet image of a hand-cranked trike http://www.news.appstate.edu/wp-content/uploads/2004/06/0628...