‘Night, night, love,’ he whispered.
Night, night, my love, sweet dreams . . .
1992
The boys had fallen into a routine more rigorous, time consuming and exhausting than school, but none of them seemed to notice that. And apart from Alex’s one week in a caravan in Blackpool with his nan and grandad, the three had no plans that might get in the way of their project. They saw the six-week summer holiday stretch out in front of them like an eternity. Eric, always up first and seemingly keen to be out of the house, would call for Alex en route and the two would arrive bright and early at Nick’s house, rain or shine. In shorts and T-shirts, the boys paid no heed to the weather but dressed for the date, and August was certainly the month for shorts. Nick’s mum would make Eric a breakfast of egg on toast, which he would wolf down. His dad would shake his head. ‘Slow down, lad! No one’s going to take it away from you.’
Nick was getting dressed in his bedroom when he heard the boys thunder up the stairs.
‘Nick!’ Alex called with urgency.
He slipped his Batman Returns T-shirt over his head and stared at the door as his friends burst in.
‘Look!’ Eric beamed as he lifted the beautiful Y-shaped object in his hands. ‘Handlebars!’ he screeched. ‘And not just any handlebars, really wide ones!’
The three jumped up and down on the floor until his mum yelled up the stairs, ‘For the love of God, stop the jumping! Sounds like you’re coming through the ceiling!’
The boys stopped jumping and each held a piece of the unwieldy metal tube, staring at it as if it were the gift of gold.
‘Wow!’ Alex spoke for them all.
‘Where d’you get it?’ Nick couldn’t believe that this glorious bit of kit had fallen into their grasp. They had spent the best part of the last week, after careful instruction from his dad, rubbing off the old and knackered paint from the frame with wet and dry paper and painting it with primer, ready for a new coat of paint, the colour of which they were yet to decide on and over which there was much debate. Then they had carefully taken the chain apart and cleaned and oiled each link, delicately putting it back together. A fiddly job, especially with slippery fingers and an overwillingness to use the tool that actually made the job a lot harder, but that didn’t matter, not when to hold it in their hands and do man’s stuff felt so brilliant! They had made a good job of working on the bits they had, but they knew the time was drawing close when they had to start looking for other parts. Truth was, Nick felt more than a little nervous. Working on the half a bike in the garage within reach of a cold glass of squash and the biscuit barrel was one thing, but to go hunting all over Burston for specific parts without a bean in their pockets felt like quite another.
‘Dave the Milk got it for me!’ Eric admired the handlebars with a look of self-congratulation. ‘And I thought it was only milk he delivered,’ he quipped.
‘Where did he get it?’ Alex shared Nick’s curiosity.
Eric shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I told him we were building Half Bike’ – he unwittingly and officially named their creation – ‘and said we needed bits and he pitched up last night with these in his hand. Aren’t they brilliant?’
‘They are!’ Nick confirmed.
‘Is your mum still doing her job with him?’ Alex wondered.
‘Yep.’
‘How do we fit them on?’ Alex stared at the rather sharp ends.
‘We use the tool and figure it out.’ Nick grabbed his trusty leather case from the bedside table.
‘Nick, do you think, erm ’ – Alex hesitated – ‘do you think . . . I mean . . . Could I . . .’
‘Spit it out, Wendy!’ Eric shouted. They didn’t know why, but Eric often gave them both random girls’ names, and if you weren’t on the receiving end of such a moniker, there was nothing funnier.
Nick giggled.
Alex continued unabashed. ‘Can I take the multi-tool home one night? I promise I’d look after it and I’d bring it straight back in the morning.’
Nick shook his head and put the gadget in his pocket. ‘No, Alex,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s too valuable to let out of the house. It used to be my dad’s and it’s got its own leather case.’ He stressed this important factor. Not that he didn’t understand Alex’s desire, because to have this thing in his own possession was empowering and gave him confidence. Nick often fell asleep thinking of how he might tackle an intruder; with the multi-tool in his hand, he would jump from the bed, lunging the little pronged end at the baddy’s throat – not dissimilar to a Batman move – and just knowing this little weapon was within reach meant he slept soundly.
In the garage, Nick and Alex straddled the frame and held it firmly in place, with muscles flexing unnecessarily and sweat forming on their smooth top lips. Eric stood with the handlebars raised and, with his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, manoeuvred the longest pole until it was lined up with the corresponding opening at the top front of the frame. He pushed until they heard a satisfying thunk.
‘It fits!’ Eric yelled, taking a step back to admire his handiwork.
Alex rested his end of the frame on the floor and ran to the front of the bike, where he dropped to his knees and, with the multi-tool in his hand and at the ready, used it to tighten the bolt at the top of the bars that sat snugly inside the frame.
Eric sat forward in the spot where the saddle would live and gripped the bullhorn handlebars.
‘This feels great! When I grow up I’m going to get a Harley Davidson and ride all the way across America! And I’ll stop every time I see a hot-dog shop and get a hot dog with onions and mustard and ketchup, then I’ll have an ice cream and set off again.’
Alex shoved him to one side and took up the same position. ‘When I grow up, I’m going to get a Harley Davidson and ride around Market Square really loudly!’
Nick laughed. ‘Well, I don’t want a Harley Davidson.’
‘Why not, Shirley?’ Eric interrupted, and it was Alex’s turn to giggle.
Nick looked at his dad’s tools all neatly tacked to the shadow board on the garage wall behind his workbench and drawn around with a marker pen so he always knew exactly where to put them after use.
‘I want to get a nice car and drive to work in an office, and I want to have a ham-and-cheese sandwich for my lunch and live in a big house, and I want to press a button on my desk and someone will bring me an orange Fanta whenever I want one.’
‘Well, my dad says if you want to work in an office you have to go to college or university,’ Alex added.
‘I think I might go to university,’ Nick said softly, surprised that there was not more ribbing.
‘Is there a university near here?’ Eric asked, his voice a little raspy.
‘There’s one in York. Jen’s ballet teacher went there,’ Nick said with authority.
‘You could go to university,’ Alex said. ‘You’re clever, Nick.’
‘I’m as clever as Nick!’ Eric yelled.
‘It was Nick that got the frame for Half Bike and he’s the one with the multi-tool,’ Alex pointed out.
‘That doesn’t make him clever!’ Eric spat. ‘It makes him lucky.’