BIKER

He looked on in silence as he stood in the open doorway, leaning his
shoulder against the woodwork. She, as if he wasn't there, stretched up
on her tiptoes and dragged a bright blue rucksack down from off the top
of the wardrobe. Having bounced it on the bed, she began hurriedly
stuffing it with clothes, which she wrenched from their hangers. Her
face was almost emotionless until she had trouble fastening a buckle.
Then, in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle the tear which left a black
mascara track down her cheek, she gave a little sniff and dabbed the
end of her nose with the back of her hand.

In an act exasperation, she straightened up and angled her face towards
the ceiling. Her efforts were futile. No matter how hard she blinked,
she could not suppress the cascade of teardrops that tumbled
uncontrollably down her face until they dripped off her chin.

He wanted to cry as much as she did. He wanted to tell her that, but he
couldn't. He was also tempted to cross the room and put a comforting
arm around her, but he knew he shouldn't. Things had gone way too far
for that, so he looked on helplessly as she tugged first one arm and
then the other into the sleeves of her black leather motorcycling
jacket.

It was no use. He couldn't let this happen. If he stood idly by,
without at least trying to reason with her just one more time, he knew
he'd never be able to live with himself.

Knowing he was risking life and limb he edged up alongside her and
hesitantly placed a hand on her quivering shoulder.
"Sam can't we?"
"Sod off!" She shrugged him away.

He backed off. She rammed her fingers deep into the trouser pocket of
her leathers and produced a bunch of keys. She tore an ignition key
from the ring.
"Here! I won't be needing these," She snarled as she tossed the
remaining keys at him. "It'll save the expense of having new ones cut
for whichever member of your harem you intend moving in next."
He let the keys drop to the floor in front of him and thought how
vulnerable she appeared, even when she was trying to be as nasty as she
could.

If he could think of one more word in the English language that would
convince her to stay he would have used it, but there were no words
left. All he could do was let things run their course - go with the
flow. He bit his bottom lip as he watched her snatch up her dark green
crash helmet and dip her blonde bob in it. With her expression hid
behind the snapped down tinted visor, she slung the rucksack onto her
shoulder.

The last he heard of Samantha, after the slamming of the back door, was
the notching up of the gears on her 650 Honda Sports as she banked it
left, through the gate, off the drive and onto the tarmac road.

And his tears didn't leave any black mascara tracks down his face.