Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,103
a lolling nod. “You sure?”
He nodded again. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Get up, then, show me.” She gestured with both hands, urging him up.
He rolled with great effort onto his side and from there struggled to his feet. He looked a little dazed, blinking fast and glancing around as if to get his bearings. When he finally seemed to get himself oriented, he looked down and, seeing snow clinging to his trousers, stamped his feet to shake it off. As he did so, he noticed a tear in his trousers. His skin was grazed beneath, but he wasn’t badly hurt. “Aw, look, my best trousers. Fucking ruined, they are.”
“Christ, Stan, is that all you care about? Your bloody trousers? We’re lucky we’re still walking. I can’t believe you, I really can’t.”
“Where’s my bike?” he asked, ignoring Amanda’s outrage to stagger about in the snow, looking for signs of his motorbike.
“Over there,” I said, pointing toward the ditch beyond. Once it had discarded its riders, the bike had continued its long, leaning skid, finally stopping when it fell into one of the ditches at the side of the fields. In the winter, those ditches were always full. His bike had doubtless plunged through the thin layer of ice there and was now immersed in green and murky water.
Wordlessly, Stan lumbered through the snow-covered grass to peer over the side of the ditch. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get it out tonight,” he called to Amanda.
“Really? And there was me all ready to go and fish it out for you,” Amanda responded as she battled clumsily to undo her helmet.
Stan turned toward her. “Well, tomorrow we could—”
“Tomorrow you can fuck off. And the next day. And the day after that.” Having finally undone the buckle of the helmet, she pulled it off. “I told you I wanted to go straight home. It’s too bloody cold and too bloody icy to be driving around. But did you listen to me?”
“Oh, come on, don’t be daft, I—”
“Daft?” Her voice was thin and shrill in the freezing emptiness of the night. “You’ve got the nerve to call me daft. Don’t you realize you could have got us killed? You’re an idiot. A stupid bloody idiot. And I don’t want to waste my time with a bloody idiot. I’m finished with you, Stan. That’s it.”
I was elated. She’d finally given him the shove.
“But, Mandy—”
“And if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Do not call me Mandy.”
“But—” Stan looked at her, open-mouthed.
“Here,” Amanda interrupted, lifting the helmet above her head in both hands, holding it up in the air for a moment, and then throwing it with all her might at Stan. He clearly hadn’t expected this, and when it reached him it hit him full in the chest, knocking him down again. He sat on the ground, stunned.
He looked pathetic. I felt a little guilty that I had so recently wished him dead. “What the fuck are you staring at, you stupid cow?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” I said, my guilt immediately gone.
“Oh, shut up, Stan. She’s not done any harm, which is more than I can say for you,” Amanda barked. She backed away a couple of steps, turned unsteadily, and then lurched toward the road. “Come on, Jesse,” she said. “Let’s leave him to his fucking motorbike. I don’t know about you, but I want to get home.”
Amanda said nothing as we made our way toward Midham. Her anger seemed to puff out in the big clouds of her breath, and every now and then she let out a long, exasperated sigh. She looked so indignant that I imagined her untouched by the shock of the accident. It wasn’t until she stopped to take off her gloves, pull out her packet of cigarettes, and tried to strike a light that I realized how shaken up she actually was. Even the cigarette in her lips was shaking, and her hands quivered so much that she couldn’t get the flame to stay in one place. “It’s the cold,” she said, trying once again to put the flame to the cigarette end. It was freezing, all my muscles seemed to ache, and my fingers and toes were burning with it. But I knew that it wasn’t the cold that was making Amanda shiver. “Jesse, do you think you could do it for me?” She handed me the box of matches and the cigarette. “I really need a smoke, I really do.”