Stopping by a gate, he took the top from a lemonade bottle, and passed it for her to drink, deciding to put on a bit of the old Herbert. ‘People fishing for something that turns out to be impossible can at least get the thrill of realizing how stupid they are. There’s always something to be had in fishing for the unattainable.’
‘You should be an actor, the way your accent changes when you try to say something interesting.’
‘Ah, I could have been a lot of things.’
‘I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.’
‘I can only hope so.’ His father’s advice, to make the woman imagine that all the good in you came from her, seemed apt at the moment. ‘I listen to the BBC, and get influenced, because I think you would like me to.’ Back to Bert, he spat out a mouthful of the vile and oversweet lemonade, and screwed the top back on as if to strangle the bottle. ‘I’m for the road. Are yer fit?’
She found him stiff, and awkward, though not detecting any definite fault only added to her confusion as to the real quality of his character, especially as she hadn’t actually known whether she wanted to come out on such a jaunt and be exposed to its full force. Cycling was more difficult than she had thought when, holding hands on the table in the café, he had so eloquently told her how pleasantly liberating a bike ride would be to the body and spirit. At such times he spoke like someone whose mind was halfway into another world, one she would be more comfortable in yet could hardly understand. He had a persuasive way of stating all arguments clearly, setting one against the other, but finally coming down on the one he wanted to win, and in such a way as to make you imagine you’d outlined it yourself.
He reached across and touched her hand, pointing to Leake Hills a mile away. ‘Just look at those splendid woods over there.’
‘I’m glad I came,’ she said. ‘It’s wonderful to be in the countryside.’
‘If I could ride close enough, and be in no danger of knocking you off the bike, I’d get a fan and keep the gnats off you.’
‘They’re not too bad.’ He could be gentlemanly and polite to an extent she never found in any of her previous boyfriends, who hadn’t shown a fraction of such finesse. But when he came out with: ‘After we get to Leake I think I’ll sink a pint or two in the pub. It’s thirsty work, this bikin’. As for yo’, duck, yer can ’ave a glass o’ shandy,’ she wondered where such habits and manners came from, and why it was, after saying something gallant, he immediately suggested an action which showed he was ashamed of having tried to be nice. Such switches of personality — or whatever it was — added to her mixed feelings, an anxiety latent at the best of times. She felt close to tears. He was unknowable, unreachable, unfathomable, and there must be something in him as hard as nails. Either that, or he was incredibly stupid, perhaps even cruel.
On the other hand maybe his frequent lapses into the demotic merely indicated his snobbery in wanting to make fun of the common people, but if that was the case how was it he did it so well? He had obviously picked it up from the pubs, and on the street, and being a good mimic knew how to make it sound genuine.
That, he thought, was what she would like to think, and he could only hope for her sake that she did. He came back with crisps and shandy from the bar, and a pint for himself, relishing the trip with this young woman who vacillated between the suave and the highly strung. Twelve miles out of the city added up to hardly enough time to be with her and get all he wanted, though if they did much more cycling she would no longer find it pleasant, he gathered, because her legs ached, and her behind was getting sore.
She seemed to be in the ladies for an hour, though it could have only been a few minutes. All the same, her absence went on long enough for him to think that if he couldn’t seduce her on this outing he wouldn’t bother to meet her again. He’d pack her in, to quote Archie. In fact the chances of getting so far looked in no way promising, and he wondered what would happen to her if he wasn’t there when she came out of the ladies, if he mounted his bike and rode alone to Loughborough, to see what he could pick up there.
The longer he sat thinking about such a good idea the greater was the chance of her seeing only the back of him as he vanished through the door. Dwelling enjoyably on such a picture delayed him until she came smiling into the bar. His standing up to watch over her sitting down was seen as another example of perfect manners, but then he had to spoil it by saying that since he was on his feet he might as well go to the bar and get his glass refilled.
Outside, noting that her tyres had not been firm since Clifton, he pumped them up, but even ruined that considerate service by adding: ‘You feel the bumps, and that’s what’s making your arse sore.’ He talked about continuing the ride as far as Nanpanton in Charwood Forest. ‘Maybe jolly old toothless Nancy Panton will have a cup o’ tea and a charcoal sandwich ready for us!’
Such a total run of forty miles would be impossible for her, though nothing to him, and to persist in the idea would be cruelty, so like the reliable consort he was called on to be, he confessed to a little tiredness, and said maybe they ought to wend their way back, providing of course that she didn’t mind. ‘I love you,’ he said, ‘in any case, and wouldn’t like either of us to get too exhausted.’
She put a hand on his, eyes lovely with relief. ‘Yes, we can turn round. I don’t mind.’
‘Whatever you like, sweetheart.’
She had hoped for a pleasant meadow by the roadside on which to eat lunch but, a little ahead in Gotham and without saying anything, he forked left on to another track. Ascending the hill she felt the bumps as painfully as ever, so manoeuvred her bike on foot, until he took both machines and pushed them easily along.
She could imagine being married to him, for he thought of kind things to do almost before they came into her own mind. On the other hand he could be disturbingly unpredictable, at times like someone on the verge of mental illness. Or perhaps she was exaggerating, having often been wrong in differentiating the rough parts from the smooth, which led her to question the workings of her own reason, something she didn’t like at all, since it came too easily even in matters of no importance. No one had ever made her doubt herself more than Herbert, so that it was difficult to get the right advice from her instinct in dealing with him.
The slope steepened, awkward off the track to hold the bikes and guide them upright between tussocks or grass. She followed, willing him to stop, heard him call back after a rabbit skipped panic-struck towards the woods. ‘That’s where we’re going.’
To be fair — and she liked to be fair — she could never find the final damaging evidence that he was no good for her. Something always surfaced to make him likeable, so she assumed it would be all right to go on meeting him.
He stopped, and let her catch up. ‘You wanted to get as far away from the city blight as possible, so I did my best.’
He remembered everything, which was good, but only to use it against her, which wasn’t. His enthusiasm led her uncomplainingly to the line of woods, where he found a smooth place and spread his cycling cape like Raleigh his cloak so that she could sit in comfort.
‘We’re about three hundred feet up. See how many villages you can count.’
‘As if it matters,’ she said. ‘Stop treating me like an infant.’
He walked along the edge of the wood to find a way inside, where their snogging could take place more privately. He found it easy to get in, but knew it would be impossible to coax her under the barbed wire. ‘If I’d known about the fence I’d have brought some wire-cutters. I don’t like being kept out of places.’
The picture of him, like an ant gone wild, destroying with glee the fence which a farmer had spent so much to erect, disturbed her. It would be wrong. ‘You’d be breaking the law.’