The Last Bike Ride - Part 2 Chapter 13/15

Chapter 13

The scan had been delayed, so Sophie arrived late at the gallery. She spotted Rhys looking at a picture, and walked over.
“Hi, darling!”
Rhys turned round and gave her a kiss.
“How did it go?” he asked, as he rubbed her bump.
“Everything’s good. I called Mum on the way. You know how she worries about these things. Do you like it then?”
“This is fantastic! She’s as good as you told me she would be. Better, in fact!”
“Come on, let’s have a walk round and have a look. I’ve just got to see Kim first”
She wasn’t too concerned about being late as she knew her team could handle things. Kim had worked with her for years and she was the most efficient girl she had known.
“Hi Sophie. I’ve already said ‘Hello’ to Rhys. How’s the baby?”
“Everything’s fine, Kim, thanks. How are things here?”
“It’s going well. Everyone’s excited. Arécy is a real stunner. Did you know she’s 50? She looks about 30! She’s just in the wings talking with Sam.”
“I can’t wait to meet her. I’ll just have a look round with Rhys and then go and see her.”
They walked around the show together, mingling with the guests who were admiring Arécy’s work. It was exquisite, and Sophie felt vindicated that all the effort she had put in to get this great artist to exhibit here had all been worth it.
Since the Bomb there had been a new art renaissance with an emphasis on traditional painting and drawing. The pretentious stuff from the years before the Bomb had disappeared. No longer could dissected animals and piles of bricks command huge prices and be admired by people who felt compelled to admire and write in glowing terms about it. The new art critics had to be able to recognise true craftsmanship.
The Bomb had left many images and feelings, and they were being portrayed in art in this period by some of the best artists ever, and Arécy was right up there with them, maybe above them all.
She was looking forward to seeing Arécy’s latest work which would be revealed by the artist later. All that was on view of it was the label – the first work she had ever labelled. It said, Not the Arécy Man. Before it was to be revealed though, Sophie had to say a few words and introduce Arécy to the assembly.
“Good luck, honey,” said Rhys, kissing her on the cheek.
He knew she wouldn’t need any luck – she was a good public speaker, and much better than him. But he hadn’t needed to speak publicly in his job. The only time he had had to make a speech before was at their wedding. It was to be a big occasion, in a marquee set in the garden of number 27.
Sophie’s only request was that he tried to do it like her Dad used to do, without any notes. When it came to the day, despite his nerves, he managed to pull it off, even getting a laugh or two.
Sophie addressed the guests,
“Ladies, gentlemen, I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be able to introduce one of the world’s great talents this evening. I think you’re all pretty excited as well.
I’m sure you’re also as eager as I am to see her latest work, some of the best of the new renaissance. I know most of you - you’ve been regular guests at the exhibitions I’ve organised. It’s good to see some new faces here. Some of you might already be fans of traditional art, some might still need convincing, and I hope our star’s work on show here will leave you in no doubt!
I did have more to say, but it’s not me you’re here to listen waffling on, so let me welcome Arécy!”
Arécy walked from behind the screen to face the guests. She had been a virtual recluse for the last twenty years and very few even knew what she looked like. Nobody in the gallery could quite believe how this stunning beauty could have been hidden away for so long.
“Thank you all for coming to see my work tonight. I hope you’ve liked what you have seen so far, and I hope you like my latest piece.
I’d like to thank Sophie for persuading me to come back to England and exhibit here. She clearly has more pressing things on her mind, and body, right now.
Before I unveil my latest work, I’d just like to say something about it. The picture is of someone I was with for only twenty minutes, I guess, but who has lived with me for the last twenty years. I don’t know if he saved my life on the night of the Bomb, but he pointed me in the right direction.
The first thing I said to him was, ‘You’re not the RAC man.’ I wanted to capture that moment when I moved permanently to France, and I chose, as my working name, Arécy, the nearest I could get in French to RAC!
This man wasn’t the breakdown man, but he came across me on the hard shoulder of the M3 when he was cycling, yes cycling, I still can’t believe it, back to his family.”
Sophie felt herself shaking and leant against Rhys for support.
“OK, well here it is!” said Arécy, as she pulled the cover off the frame and Sophie fainted.
Rhys gasped, “Jesus!”
“Sophie, Sophie, wake up, honey!”
Rhys couldn’t wake her.
“Is it her baby, do you think?” asked Arécy.
“No, it’s her Dad. That’s her Dad in your picture, Arécy!
“Oh, my God!”
Kim took control and told someone to help Rhys carry Sophie into a room at the back. Arécy went with them.
Kim turned and addressed the guests,
“She’ll be fine in a couple of minutes. Please, stay and enjoy Arécy’s work. Sam and the others will bring you some food and drink.”
Sophie came round in the back room.
“Are you OK, darling?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine, Rhys, don’t worry, it’s not the baby.”
“I know. I recognised him too.”
Arécy said,

“Sophie, I had no idea. Oh, Sophie, let me give you a hug.”
The two women hugged and cried for several minutes.
“Rhys, can you go back out with Kim. I need to talk with Arécy.”
“Of course, honey. See you in a bit.”
“Sophie, I’ll get you some water and then leave you two in peace.”
“OK, thanks Kim.”
Rhys went back to look at the picture. As he walked over to it, he saw another man staring at it, not moving. Rhys stood next to him, remembering Steve from the time he had first met him when he was still at school. He thought he was talking to himself, but his,
“It’s just so life-like.”
“Sorry, did you say something?” asked the man next to him.
“Yes, I said it’s so life-like, but I thought I had said it to myself!”
“Oh, I do that all the time! Do you know him then?”
“Yes, I knew him when I was a teenager but he’s been dead twenty years now. He would have been my father-in-law; I suppose he still is, come to think of it. He’s Sophie’s Dad, you know, Sophie who is running this.”
“I know Sophie very well. My name’s Gavin Thomas, I’m one of the art critics. I’ve been looking forward to this. She really pulled off a big coup in getting Arécy over here, you know.”
“Yes, I know. I’m Rhys, by the way, Rhys Scott.”
“Pleased to meet you, Rhys. So that’s why you both reacted in the way you did when you saw this picture?”
“Yes. He had been forgotten about until a few days ago when one of Sophie’s sisters met someone at the school where she teaches who had received a call from Steve on the night of the Bomb. These anniversaries do bring it all back, don’t they? What about you, do you have any memories from then?”
“Well, just one big one really, and the rest was a blur. The big one was seeing the mushroom cloud of the Bomb.”
“You actually saw the mushroom cloud!”
“Yes, my Mum was driving up to London to meet Dad and we went over this rise and it was there, straight ahead, in the distance. There was a huge crash and I ended up in the gap between the front and back seats with my twin sister on top of me. Her head looked odd, that’s all I could see of her. I couldn’t see my Mum, but I could hear her telling me that everything was going to be fine. Then I heard her pleading with someone to help. I saw this man look into the car, I’m not sure if he saw me, though, and heard him say something to Mum, and that was it. I must have passed out and came round in a hospital in Devon, they told me. Someone just left me there, and I’ve got no idea how or why. There were some good people around that night, despite the panic and devastation.
But there’s something about this face, Rhys, I don’t know what, but there’s something familiar about it.”
“Thanks Gavin. I’ve heard about others who saw the cloud that night, but you’re the first one I’ve actually met. I need the gents now. I’ll see you later. It was good to meet you”
“Me too,” he replied, and turned back to the picture, wondering,
‘Is it him, it can’t be, surely?’
In the back room Arécy was sitting comforting Sophie.
“Are you OK now, Sophie? Do you really want to talk about it now?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’d like to hear what happened. Do you know, we knew nothing about Dad that night after he called when he was, I guess, just starting off on his bike. The next thing we knew, his body had been found the following morning just round the corner from home.”
Arécy was now in tears again.
“Sorry, Arécy, you wouldn’t have known he didn’t make it back to us. You probably thought he was still around somewhere.”
Arécy nodded.
“Look, you’ve got his face right in the picture, but his hat’s not quite right.”
“I wasn’t sure about the hat, you know, Sophie. He cycled away and I got my pad out before I drove off and drew his face. I thought it was a griffin on his hat, but I was concentrating more on his features.”
“No, it would have been the cockerel of his football team, Spurs. It doesn’t matter though!”
“There was something else I noticed, Sophie. He had to take his gloves off to undo the strap around the car jack and the other bits. He still had them off as he was gripping the wheel-brace and I noticed one of his fingers was sticking up a bit, like this, not making a proper fist”
“That was him, Arécy, that was definitely him. He had a prosthetic knuckle in that hand from when he hit someone in Greece. I’m not sure what happened, something about a motorbike, I think, but Dad ended up with a plastic knuckle and the other guy with a gold tooth. All I remember Dad saying about that was, ‘Beware of Greeks baring teeth!”
They both laughed together and were feeling better, but Arécy knew what Sophie was thinking.
“When he found me, I had fallen asleep in the car waiting for the RAC. I had driven up from Brittany and was on my way to my studio in London, and I knew nothing about what had happened. I prefer listening to my own music than the radio’s. I told your Dad about me having a place in France, and the studio in London, and somewhere in Cornwall for the summer. Your Dad suggested I head for Cornwall and gave me directions to pick up the A303.
“I stayed in Cornwall for a while, but it became too over-crowded as everyone headed as far west as they could. I went back to France and just hid myself away and got on with my work and live with my gorgeous man. Sorry, Sophie, I don’t mean your Dad, I mean my real live man! We have a quiet, but wonderful life down there.
“Look, Sophie, I know you’re wondering why he has stayed with me for so long. We’re both women of the world, and I have to say that I made it clear to your Dad how I wanted to thank him. But this is why I’ve remembered him in the way I have. He didn’t want to take advantage; he wanted to get back to you. He could have just cycled on past what must have looked like an abandoned car. But he stopped and he wanted to help someone.”
“Well, that was Dad, all right.”
They were both now much more comfortable and were sitting with their arms around each other.
“Arécy, what is your real name?”
“Sophie, only about six people know that, but how could I not tell you? It’s Ranjia.”
“That’s sweet, Can I call you that?”
“Of course.”
“Ranjia, would you come and see my Mum?”
“Oh, Sophie, of course I would, but I won’t have time now.”
“I didn’t mean now while you’re on this trip, but I hope you can make it soon.”
“Here’s my number. Give me a call.”
“Thanks. She’d love to see you, I’m sure.”
“OK. Right, come on Sophie, we’ve got a show to do!”