Tandem

We drank rum and coke every evening the summer
you made the tandem in our back garden.
I would watch you apply oil
to the chain, and look in awe as you rewired
the brakes.

I often just sat beside you and read my book
or the day's paper. Sometimes you would ask for help
and I would hold the handlebars in place
while you tightened the bolts.

The day you finished you came to find me
with a sponge in your hand, your fingers wrinkled
from warm, soapy water. "It's ready."

you said, and where piles of metal had cluttered our garden
sat a brand new bike. You looked like a toddler
on Christmas morning.

We test-rode it over the countryside
and ended up at your mum and dad's.
We sat in their conservatory, eating croissants
discussing where we could visit. Your sister suggested
Annecy, which she had visited once
with school.

After two weeks of swimming the the lakes
as the sun rose, cycling to mountainsides
and dining in restaurants, we started to argue
every day. When it was time to leave
the wheels had fallen off.