Free Against the Tide by John Hanley Page A

every part of her, listened to her breathe. I think she knows me as well –’
    Malita giggled. ‘He has made choice. He love her, not Caroline.’
    Fred sighed in resignation and pulled me into the yard. Together we lifted the tarpaulin away from the 1933 Brough Superior SS100. Her black nickel-plated paintwork gleamed in the shadows as we manoeuvred her out of the yard and into the road. I held the machine on the front brake and caressed my left hand over the stainless steel petrol tank between my knees.
    â€˜I suppose you want my goggles as well as my shoes, socks, pants and bike?’
    â€˜Just the goggles will do, Uncle.’
    Fred extracted a pair of well-worn flying goggles from the saddlebag and slid them onto my head.
    I began the complicated procedure of starting the Brough from cold. Eventually the long chrome twin exhausts spat out behind my right leg as the engine throbbed into life. I let it settle into a steady beat, almost as fast as my heart’s.
    Fred clapped me on the shoulder and mouthed, mêfi-ous – take care.
    I smiled over my shoulder at Malita, then nodded goodbye to them.
    Boadicea was ten times more powerful than Bessy, my little 250cc BSA, and much heavier. I pulled in the clutch lever with my left hand, took my right off the twist throttle and nudged the gear lever forward into first, released the clutch and stalled.
    I expected Fred to complain but something had distracted him. He grabbed Malita’s arm and cocked his head towards the end of the road. She turned to look and I followed her gaze.
    A black Jaguar was parked about fifty yards away. The sole car in the road gleamed in the evening sunlight. Two men, wearing hats, sat in its front seats. Fred mumbled something to Malita. She shrugged.
    Fred waved me away. I was curious about the car but didn’t want to ask any more questions. I’d had enough for a while and Boadicea beckoned more enticingly than one of Fred’s mysteries.
    I kicked her into life again and this time managed to slip the clutch and bounce down the street with only a seductive wobble from her rear tyre to indicate her displeasure as we turned right into Dumaresq Street.

9
    Once I was out of their sight, I relaxed, though it occurred to me that my third-party insurance certificate was insufficient to pay for any damage should Boadicea and I have a falling out with each other. The airflow began to tug at my jacket until I summoned the courage to take my left hand off the handlebar, undo the buttons and let it flare out behind me as I leant forward into the thirty miles per hour wind.
    I turned into Pier Road, opened the throttle and let her surge forward up the hill until we were rattling windows as we passed. The acceleration was fantastic, almost jerking my arms from my shoulders. I swung her up the steep slope to Mount Bingham and twisted the throttle to the stop. The sound was glorious as it echoed off the granite walls on either side.
    I pulled across the road and slipped into neutral. Below was the harbour with HMS Jersey tied up alongside the Victoria Quay. There were still crowds of people standing about admiring her sleekness. This was arrow-like, compared to the St Patrick mail boat berthed at the adjacent Albert Quay, which would be Alan’s transport to Southampton the following morning.
    What a bloody strange day. I still couldn’t believe that I’d thrown Caroline over the quay. What did I feel about her? There were so many competing emotions, so many contradictions, that I just didn’t know. Was it lust that had held us together or was it love? I realised that Jack, the great observer, the clever scholar, didn’t have a bloody clue.
    I looked down at HMS Jersey again and remembered the sound as she’d hit the murky water. Whatever I felt was now irrelevant. Our relationship had drowned amongst the weeds in the harbour.
    Malita had also said something about Rachel – is difficult choice, no?