Evening Class

Jo walked down the corridor of the college clutching her books. Her
mind was spinning slightly, which she liked. Next to her was
Natasha.
'Did you notice the smell?'
Jo smiled. In the accounting class were about ten men and five women.
One of the men (they had called him Persil) had a hygiene problem. Both
visually and olfactory, if you were unlucky enough to sit next to him.
You could admire Persil's grey collar whilst sniffing the aroma seated
next to him for the duration of the two hour class.
Natasha was studying to be able to complete the accounts for her
husband's pub. Jo had told her over a coffee early in the course why
she was ploughing through the course.
'Drink?'
'Go on then, I'll just ring him.' Jo fished out her mobile and pressed
the preset. After a few rings he answered.
'It's me.' 'I'll be a bit late, I'm popping for a drink with Natasha.'
'Do we need anything? Milk?' 'I'll bring some.' 'Love you too.'
The two women walked out into the autumn air and headed for the Prince
of Wales next to the college.

An hour later the pair walked back to the car park. Natasha's
cigarette glowed as she flicked the ash.
'Next week?'
'Unless you want a coffee or a g. and t., just pop in, Tony won't
mind.'
'Thanks, I'll give you a ring,' Jo kissed Natasha on the cheek, she
kissed her back.
'Don't forget. Before you start the engine.'
Jo grinned. 'Thank you.' She unlocked the driver's door of her old
Ford Escort, in blue and dents. She reached under the steering wheel
and pulled the bonnet release. The click sounded loudly in the cool
emptiness of the car park. She waved at Natasha who was sitting guard
in her car, stereo booming away.
Jo lifted the bonnet and secured it open. She lent in and scraped her
hand along the engine block. A satisfying amount of oily gunge caught
under her nails and in her fingers. She rubbed both hands together and
used the rag from under the driver's seat to clear away the
excess.
Dropping the bonnet, she showed both palms to Natasha who flashed
twice. They drove out of the car park in tandem, rocking to Natasha's
stereo.

The garage lights were still burning as Jo pulled onto the drive.
Parking next to her husband's new VW Golf, she placed her bag of books
into the boot of the Escort and locked up. She wondered whether to go
into the house, but decided another visit was due.

Her husband was in the garage stood next to the red Ducati motorcycle,
the gleaming red Ducati motorcycle.
'Hi ya.'
'Hi,' he walked over holding the yellow polishing cloth (plastic
bodywork cloth) and gave her a kiss. 'Don't put those hands on the
bike.'
She smiled, 'I'll go and clean up.'
'What did you do tonight?'
His back was to her, the bike was being polished again. She wondered if
any red paint was left on the tank. He'd get down to the original
surface soon, hopefully it would be green or blue, something that
clashed horribly.
'We did the carburettor, how it works, next week we'll repair one
each.'
'I thought they would have done more on fuel injection?' He was still
polishing.
Jo though quickly. 'We need to do the simple stuff. That's later,
Spring I think.' She paused. 'I'm going to clean up.'
'Did you bring the milk?'
She had forgotten. A stab of fear dipped into her and stayed.
'Sorry, I forgot.'
His back tensed and he stopped polishing. He turned towards her. The
stab of fear twisted, like it always did when she did wrong.
'Sorry, I forgot. I'll go and get some.'

He dropped the cloth and walked towards her.

Six months later and the sky was still light as Jo and Natasha walked
out of the college.
'When is he back?'
'Tomorrow. Morning, I think. After a week away, he'll want to see his
baby in the garage and give it a polish.'
'He didn't take it with him?'
'No, there might be rain.' They both laughed, the laughter lifting the
tenseness inside Jo. 'No, he needed loads of papers and stuff for the
conference.'
'Have you got the thing?'
Jo showed her. 'From his favourite shop.'
Natasha smiled. 'See you tomorrow evening. For champagne!'

The following morning, Jo finished the final bit of packing. Most of
her possessions were in her newly rented flat, pokey and old, but her
flat all the same. She looked out of the window. Her neighbours, Mr and
Mrs Bayliss were working in their front garden. As she had asked them
to.

Too many times they had listened helplessly to the screams and the
violence through the shared wall, now they were only too pleased to
help, if only as old neighbourhood busybodies.
She heard the VW arrive home. She ran down the stairs, no good-byes.
There was no good left in this house. She walked out of the door and
met him on the drive.
'Hello darling.' He was surprised, 'why are you here?'
'I'm leaving you,' she said suddenly and sweetly. Inside her heart was
thudding. She inclined her head towards the Baylisses who were
strategically clearing their shared border, a discreet warning.
'My solicitor will be in touch.' She ran down to her Escort and then
turned and ran back. He was still stood still, shocked.
'I nearly forgot. I practised taking your bike apart while you were
away. I've managed to put it back together except for this bit. I think
it is part of the engine.'
She pressed the bolt into his palm, turned and walked back down to her
car. Her heart still thudded, but inside a lightness was descending, an
uncertain future lay ahead, but she had a job and a place to live, and
she was free to live again.
And she would never forget his face, wondering where to look; at her,
at the Baylisses, at the garage, at the Ducati bolt in his hand.
The End.