The Last Bike Ride - Part 2 Chapter 11/15

Chapter 11

James Ritter was waiting with his Dad outside his form-room on parent’s evening. The door opened, and James’s friend Adam came out looking sheepish, followed by his mother, looking wolfish - she could have slaughtered him.
“Come in, James,” called his form teacher.
“And you must be James’s Father, Mr Ritter?” as they both walked in, “pleased to meet you. I’m Miss Martin.”
“Thank you, Miss Martin. So, give it to me straight!”
“No, Mr Ritter, you’ve got nothing to worry about with James, he’s doing really well. The only thing I wanted to talk to you about, as far as James is concerned, is his tendency to show off his wit at inappropriate moments. I don’t want to curb his wit, just his control of it, you understand!”
“Yes, I know. He’s like that everywhere. I blame myself, I’m the same. It helps with my job, though.”
“And what do you do, Mr Ritter?”
“I’m a stand-up comedian.”
“Oh, really, that’s interesting, because I’m also asking parents for any contributions for our 20th anniversary commemoration of the Bomb. Your ease in front of an audience would help if you have any memories from back then. Would you like to consider it and get back to me?”
“I remember that night as if it was yesterday. I haven’t spoken about it for a while, but I’d be happy to do that for the school.”
“Well, Mr Ritter, that’s very kind of you. I’ll let you know the details. I haven’t been to a stand-up night for ages. Do you go under your real name?”
“I did once. It’s Jimmy Ritter, but now I’m known as Hitler.”
“Well, that’s a strange choice. I’ll be in touch. Thanks for coming, Mr Ritter, and I’ll see you tomorrow, James.”
“Thanks, Miss. Dad, get out, you’re so embarrassing!”
Jimmy Ritter looked over his shoulder at the teacher, as he was led out quickly by his son, and caught her knowing smile.

***
Nikki’s phone rang. She looked to see that it was Sophie.
“Hi, Sis, how’s things?”
“Good, really good. Listen, you know I’ve been trying to get Arécy over to exhibit.”
“Yeah”
“She’s agreed!”
“Oh, Sophie, I’m so pleased for you. Look, let’s meet up and celebrate at the weekend. I’ve got the 20th Bomb anniversary tomorrow night and I need to finish some stuff for it.”
“OK, good luck with it. Can’t wait to see you!”
The following evening Nikki sat with the other teachers in the packed school hall. She had helped get together enough contributors to make it an interesting evening, and hoped it wouldn’t be too harrowing.
The school Head, Paul Miller, got up on stage to introduce the evening:
“Ladies, gentlemen, and pupils, tonight we have a few people who I hope will provide some personal experience of what happened 20 years ago. We’ve all read and, indeed, some of you have been taught here, about the Bomb and its consequences.
This might be difficult for a lot of you, so please, feel free to leave the Hall at any time, if it gets too much.
To start things off, we have one of our own teachers. I haven’t spoken to her about what she is going to say tonight, and I’m just as interested as I hope you all are. So, please give a warm welcome to one of the teachers from our English department, Rachel Timms. Thank you.”
The Head took his seat on the stage, where he would stay all evening to introduce each contributor.
Despite the age difference, Nikki and Rachel had become friends since both joining the teaching staff at the same time and Nikki had been surprised that Rachel was prepared to talk about her experience. She had been one of only two people who Rachel had spoken to about that night.
The hall was silent with anticipation as Rachel started.
“Thank you, Mr Miller.”
“Other than to a couple of people, I haven’t spoken about my experience of the night of the Bomb before, so please bear with me.”
As she started, Rachel felt more comfortable than she expected, and realised she would be fine, as if giving a prepared lesson to one of her classes.
“I was five at the time and I was with my parents and my 10 year-old brother at a restaurant in Bracknell, when the news of the attack came through.
Mum and Dad managed to get us out to the car and I remember setting off from the car park, driving for a long time, and then being shaken awake by Mum.
We had run out of petrol and Dad told us that we would have to walk. I asked if we were nearly home, and he said that we weren’t going home for a while. He told me that we were somewhere in the New Forest and would have to walk.
I remember it seemed very dark at first, with some light from the cars driving past, but once my eyes got used to the moonlit darkness, I realised that there were others walking along the edge of the road in the same direction as us.
We had our coats on, but it was still very cold, and we had eaten all the food we had with us – just some crisps and sweets that we found in the car. Me and Greg were both moaning about being hungry and our parents tried to comfort us as best they could.
My brother, Greg, broke his ankle when he caught his foot in a rabbit-hole in the verge and he was screaming with pain. Dad said we had to try and keep going. He carried Greg for a while and then Mum said she couldn’t carry on. She had been carrying me and by then was just exhausted.
Since we had left the restaurant I knew something was very wrong, as I hadn’t seen my parents looking like they did before, but at the side of the road in the Forest, something changed. I know now that they had to make a decision, a decision that no mother or father should ever have to make.
Dad told Greg that he would take me to find help and that we would see each other soon. He gave him and Mum a hug and had to wrench me from Mum and put me on his shoulders. We eventually got to Ringwood and found a house to stay. I found out much later that people had been expecting an exodus and were welcoming these strangers into their homes for shelter and safety.
Dad was able to find a job before too long and we settled in the town where I grew up and still live in the house we moved into.
My Dad told me about that night much later when I was able to understand what had happened. He died when I started at Uni, and I think he would have given up before then, but wanted to make sure that I was pointing in the right direction for a decent future. We had a good life together, but he never got over leaving Mum and Greg to freeze to death in the Forest.
Thank you.”
It was only when she sat back down next to Nikki that her emotions took over, with relief that she had at last felt able to talk about that night.
Paul Miller was also struggling with his own emotions as Rachel’s story had affected him more than he was expecting. He rose to thank her, welcomed the next person to speak, and sat down again, wishing he hadn’t chosen to stay on the stage all evening.
The speakers who followed Rachel all had something new to add and several people did have to leave the Hall, finding some of the stories to hard to take; with some not returning, but most coming back to listen to more.
Paul Miller got up from his seat on the stage to introduce the evening’s final speaker.
“Our last speaker tonight is someone you may know as one of the Year 9 parents, but may also know if you are regulars at our local comedy clubs, where he goes under the name of Hitler. I’m not sure what he calls himself that; perhaps he will enlighten us this evening? It must be difficult for anyone to make light of what happened on that terrible night twenty years ago, but if anyone can, I expect he can. So, please welcome, Jimmy Ritter.”
“Thank you Mr Miller. Good evening everyone. I was luckier than millions of others that night – I just lost a testicle and some teeth.”
Some pupils giggled at that, but most of the audience kept quiet. Nikki looked across to the Head who was looking at her, and not in a pleased way. She shrugged, and mouthed to him, ‘Sorry’, and thought,
‘Oh, please, don’t tell me that’s why you’re called Hitler.’
She was beginning to have second thoughts about having a comedian in the line-up.
Harriet Warman came into the Hall at that point and grabbed the nearest seat to the door. She was too flustered to notice Jimmy’s withering remark to her about being late. She had just come from St Michael’s school where she had had a chat with the Head Teacher, Bob Reagan, about her new role as a school governor.
“Congratulations Harriet,” Bob had said, “I’m looking forward to working with you. I have to say that you needn’t have gone to the trouble of writing four pages of A4 with your CV, but thank you anyway!”
“We had a father here many years ago, and I got to know him a bit. He was encouraged to stand for election as a governor, but only made a half-hearted attempt and wrote … hang on, I saved his application with some of the absence letters he wrote – they were unusual and made us laugh. Let me find it.”
Bob pulled out an old file in his bottom draw.
“Here, have a look.”
It just said, ‘Bald, glasses, not bad at woodwork, and, er, I think children are the future.’
“He just missed out by one vote”, Bob told her, “which was a shame as I would have liked to have worked with him. He and his wife were around for about 10 years through their four daughters. One of them, Nikki, is a teacher over at your Peter’s school, and I’m holding you up, aren’t I? I’ve just realised their talks are due to start now. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks Bob. What was his name, by the way?”
“Steve Martin.”
“Thanks. Bye!”
Jimmy continued with his story.
“The night of the Bomb was only my second stand-up gig. I was just 21 and had dropped out of Uni to make a go of comedy. My mate was doing the DJ-ing. He had just as big a sound-system in his car as the one he used on stage. I often said he should have just backed the car into the venues and used his in-car system, but I don’t think he ever tried to.
So we took two cars, there were eight of us, and drove down to this pub in Guildford. We were just about to set up when the news of the Bomb came through so we left what had been unloaded and made our way to the M3. The problem was, everyone else was trying to do the same.
I don’t know what time it was, but we finally got on to the motorway and it was really frightening. The speed was incredible, and not just the stuff we were taking!
Sorry, I know drugs are a touchy subject now, but that’s just how it was.
There were crashes everywhere. We were hoping to get down here to Bournemouth as we had heard that it was going to be the party to end all parties!
We had wanted to get some fuel at Fleet services but it was rammed and there was clearly no chance of getting any petrol there. I remember seeing one guy running around with a gun threatening to shoot anyone, or anything, if he couldn’t get any fuel.
It took a while to get ourselves back on to the motorway, and we just decided to get as far as we could with the fuel we had.”
Jimmy took a drink of water. The audience, after taking an initial dislike to him, were now getting absorbed by his tale.
“We finally ran out of fuel near Winchester I think it was. John, the DJ, still had some fuel, but he decided that he would stay and get a party going with music blasting from his car boot, and we supplied the drink and drugs from our boot.
Luke, a big guy who had looked after John at his gigs, and me were really stoned and challenged each other to a game of chicken across the motorway to the other side. We both saw the same gap and raced across, just missing being hit by a big car, a Merc or a Jag, it was too dark, and it was going too fast, to know. We weren’t that bothered actually!
We both climbed over the central barrier and headed for the far bushes to answer nature’s call. The carriageway was completely empty. After all, nothing at all was heading to London that night.
To our surprise a cyclist came up from the right. We couldn’t believe it! Luke, for some reason, asked this guy, quite politely, for his bike. Well, maybe not that politely, actually!
As he got closer to us it was clear that he had somewhere to go and was not going to be stopped. He wasn’t young, by any means, but he must have been fit to cycle up that hill and then take us on. Luke had other ideas and took a swing, but he was so stoned that he missed as this guy ducked under his fist – luckily for him because he would have been launched a long way if it had connected.
Luke’s hand got caught in the bike’s spokes and he lost a couple of fingers, and then I went for this guy. As I got nearer I saw the badge on his hat, and then looked again – I couldn’t believe it – it was a Spurs badge.”
Nikki had been gripping herself with her folded arms, trying to stop shaking, but now had her face in her hands and tears were running through her fingers.
A couple of seats away, Harriet was also shaking. She fiddled with her bracelet and it came undone. Her husband had given her this bracelet on her birthday just three days before he died. She looked at the inscription inside before she clipped it tight again. To my darling Hattie.

“That little hesitancy allowed him to take a swing with his foot. I don’t know what he was wearing, probably something with steel toe-caps, because when he caught me between the legs I thought I was going to die, and hardly felt the next kick on my jaw.”
Nikki stood up, and went to walk out.
“Oh, Miss Martin, the bell hasn’t gone yet!”
Nikki stood there, waited for the laughter to die down, and shouted to Jimmy,
“Just fuck off!”
She ran out of the Hall to the toilets and sat down and let it all out in heaving sobs.
“Oh, Dad, Dad.”
Jimmy turned back to the stunned audience and said,
“Well, that was a classy heckle!”
There was no laughter this time, and no one was particularly interested in the rest of his story about him ending up in Bournemouth.
Only one person in the audience had any idea what had gone wrong. Harriet got up and went to look for Nikki whose sobs could be heard from the corridor. She went in to the toilets.
“Nikki, I’m Harriet, a parent from one of the other Year 9 forms. Was he just talking about your Dad?”
“Yes, I think so. What? Why did you say that?”
Nikki shot out of the cubicle.
“I think he was with my husband that night. Come here.”
Harriet hugged Nikki to her. They were both sobbing now.
“Look, I’m as confused as you right now. I’d like to talk with you. Give me a call and we’ll meet up.”
She wrote down her number and gave it to Nikki.
“I’ve got to get Peter from the Hall now. Please call me.”
“Yes, I will. Thanks.”
Nikki rinsed her eyes and went back to face everyone. She seemed back in control, at least externally. Jimmy Ritter was coming out of the Hall as she walked in.
“Mr Ritter, I’m so sorry. Are you sure it was a Spurs hat he was wearing?”
“Look, I was a Gooner, an Arsenal fan, and we knew their badges. There was a lot of animosity between the fans back then.”
“Yes, I know about that. My Dad and my oldest sister used to talk about it.”
“Was your Dad a Gooner then?”
“No, that was my Dad who left you with one ball!”
Jimmy Ritter stood there, even more stunned than his audience had just been. She left him there, open-mouthed, and walked into the Hall. Now she just had to face the Head, with more than a ‘Sorry’ this time.
‘That was easier than I expected,’ she thought, as she drove home.
But Nikki had always been good at defending herself in that sort of situation.
She knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, so she went in to see her Mum first She had been looking after Stevie while Nikki was out, as she often did.
“Hi, Mum! Fancy a Bailey’s? I’m going to help myself to something stronger,”
They sat down together.
“What is it, Nikki?”
Juliette could tell something was wrong, and anyone could of, if they had walked in a few seconds after as Nikki started crying.
“Sorry, Mum, let me get you another drink. I must have been crying for ages.”
She had composed herself by the time she gave Juliette another drink and settled down beside her.
“Mum, I’ve just met two people who saw Dad on the night he died.”
“What! You’re kidding!”
“No, Mum, they were at the talk at school earlier.”
She could see her Mum shaking slightly.
“Just try and breathe normally, Mum.”
“How can I, Nikki, after you telling me that?”
“I know, but I had to tell you tonight. Look, you know I said one of the parents is a comedian and wanted to do one of the talks.”
“Yes, go on.”
“Well, he and some friends had got as far as Winchester that night and one of their cars ran out of petrol. They set up a party on the hard shoulder and two of them, the comedian and another big lad, played chicken to run across the traffic to get to the other side. They were walking across what they thought was an empty carriageway, as nothing was heading to London, and Dad appeared on his bike as he got to the top of one of those big hills there.”
It was Juliette’s turn now to have her face in her hands. Nikki put an arm round her Mum and continued,
“They wanted to take Dad’s bike, but Jimmy, this comedian, said that whoever this was coming towards them seemed determined to get somewhere. Dad ducked under the big guy’s swing and then kicked Jimmy so hard in the balls that he ended up losing one, and then kicked him again in the jaw and knocked out some of his teeth.”
Juliette was now heaving with a mixture of sobs and relieved laughter.
“I couldn’t take any more of Jimmy’s talk, so I got up to go out, and he shouted a stupid comment at me. Oh, Mum, I made such a fool of myself.”
“How?”
“I told him to fuck off!”
“Just like your Dad would have done. He had a way with words like that!”
“I know, but he could be good with words sometimes, couldn’t he?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“You know he could, Mum. What about our cats, you remember their names, don’t you.”
Nikki knew that Juliette knew their names. She was just trying to get her Mum talking again.
“Well, yes, there was the one that came with us from Kent, Stanley.”
“That was it. Why Stanley?”
“When it came into our house one day, it must have liked it and ended up staying. Dad put a notice up on a lamppost, saying, ‘Found, ginger cat, answers to the name of, Get off that bed’!”
“No one claimed it, so we decided to keep it. Dad wanted something a bit shorter and sharper than ‘Get off that bed’ for a name and decided on Stanley, after Stanley knife, a short, sharp knife people used to use!”
Nikki felt her Mum relaxing a bit and asked about the other cat.
“When Stanley died, Dad tried to surprise us with a kitten on Sophie’s birthday, her 5th or 6th, I’m not sure now. We had talked about having a more sensible name if we ever got another cat and had decided on Lilly, but Dad wasn’t too keen on that. He picked the cat up during the day and it went missing for hours and appeared again just as I got home with you girls from school. It was at the time of the search for Osama bin Laden, who was thought to be behind 9/11, and had hidden in the mountains in Afghanistan, so Dad compromised and registered the kitten at the Vet’s under the name of Osama bin Lilly. It was so embarrassing taking her there!”
“I just about remember that, Mum!”
They had a good laugh, and then Nikki braced herself to continue.
“I ran out of the Hall, Mum, after shouting that out, and just sat sobbing on the toilet. And then a woman came in and said that she was a parent from one of the other Year 9 classes and asked if that had been my Dad who Jimmy had been talking about. I went out to her and she said that she thought Dad might have been with her husband that night,”
“Is that all she said?”
“Well, yes, we just hugged each other. Neither of us was up for talking more about it at that moment. She wants to meet up with me for a chat, and gave me her number. I’m going to call her and try and meet her on Saturday.”
“Oh, Nikki, I wonder what happened?”
“I do too, Mum, he got so close. We know how he ended up, but it would be good to find out something from along his journey. I miss him Mum. I wish he could see us now, and tell each of us, ‘Well done, lovely girl!’, like he used to, do you remember?”
“Especially you. You were his favourite, he would be proud of you.”
“Mum, he didn’t have any favourites, he loved us all, and would have been proud of us all. Let’s have another drink.”
They talked and cried and drank for a while and fell asleep nestled together on the sofa. Nikki had been wrong, she did sleep - she and Juliette slept very well, right through until morning.