The Lady with the bicycle
Night shift had finished much earlier than expected, not many people looking for a taxi, five thirty am on this dry but cold summers morning, he let himself into the small first floor flat as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb his wife or any of their three small children at this early hour.
As is normal to some night shift workers, he opened the refrigerator where he retrieved an ice cold can on Tennents lager, the small stool became his perch by the slim kitchen window, he smoked and supped for five minutes, relaxing after the boredom of his shift, financial worries and tiredness trying their best to invade his thoughts. The lager tasted good, as each mouthful slid down his neck he could feel the cold liquids journey inch by inch, he sighed 'haaaa' the sigh of semi-contentment.
Suddenly he heard someone attempting to open the rear door of the Victorian tenement building, situated directly below the kitchen window, this door was kept locked on a permanent basis, he peered cautiously out of the window, just about able to see know one standing in the yard trying to gain entry.
Getting up he went for the front door, he left the door ajar as he took the two short flights in four or five bounds, keen to see who was trying get out of the locked door at 5:45 am.
As he rounded the bottom of the stairs he saw in the gloom, a woman, she must have been 35-40 years old, she had a black bicycle, tall and slim, like a racing bike but with straight handlebars. The woman had refuse sacks overflowing with what must have been clothing balanced precariously on the handle bars and on the cross-bar, at her feet a handful of plastic shopping bags lay, again full of clothing or shoes.
"Are you OK?" he asked, she did not reply, so he asked her another question.
"Can I help you with something?"
The woman did not look towards him when she spoke, and when she did she began to say the same thing over and over, just in case the man did not hear her.
"Bags, I need bags!" repeatedly she said it another three or four times, "Bags I need bags, bags, bags, bags"
The man though concerned,decided that he would just get up stairs and find carrier bags in the kitchen, he knew where they were, and besides this lady seemed happy enough, to get her bags and go, when you carry so much stuff about with you, plastic shopping bags must be a helpful commodity.
"OK, I'll be back in a tick hen!" he turned, once at the stairway he was inside the flat in about ten seconds, going straight to the drawer in the kitchen he retrieved a handful of bags and went immediately back down the stairway, keen to give the woman her carriers, then he envisaged helping her out of the front of the building through the Yale lock secured front doorway.
As he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs he began to speak; "Here you ...!"
No woman, no bicycle, no bin liners, no noise, with no idea how she could have got out of the building unaided he went towards the front doorway, it was closed securely, he had not heard it slam shut as it always did, thinking this very, very strange he opened the door, putting the snib up, walking into the street, a long wide roadway where he could see in both directions, and besides, how far could she have got in the short fraction of time it would or should have taken someone with such a burden, bicycle, bags full of clothing etc.
Like a willow the wisp she had vanished, silently without fuss the lady with the bicycle may not have been there, 'Of course she was' he thought, she had spoken, he thought, to him.
A few weeks passed before the man and his wife were out in the overgrown back yard, pulling out a tangle of weeds and trimming the forest of shrubs bordering the small patch of land at the back of the building, sticking the gardening fork into a plant bed it came into contact with something solid, he Lent over and recognising the nature of the object he began to exert some force in his quest to tear it from the undergrowth, rusted and bent, a black racer type bicycle with straight handlebars, it looked to have been there for a long, long time.
As is normal to some night shift workers, he opened the refrigerator where he retrieved an ice cold can on Tennents lager, the small stool became his perch by the slim kitchen window, he smoked and supped for five minutes, relaxing after the boredom of his shift, financial worries and tiredness trying their best to invade his thoughts. The lager tasted good, as each mouthful slid down his neck he could feel the cold liquids journey inch by inch, he sighed 'haaaa' the sigh of semi-contentment.
Suddenly he heard someone attempting to open the rear door of the Victorian tenement building, situated directly below the kitchen window, this door was kept locked on a permanent basis, he peered cautiously out of the window, just about able to see know one standing in the yard trying to gain entry.
Getting up he went for the front door, he left the door ajar as he took the two short flights in four or five bounds, keen to see who was trying get out of the locked door at 5:45 am.
As he rounded the bottom of the stairs he saw in the gloom, a woman, she must have been 35-40 years old, she had a black bicycle, tall and slim, like a racing bike but with straight handlebars. The woman had refuse sacks overflowing with what must have been clothing balanced precariously on the handle bars and on the cross-bar, at her feet a handful of plastic shopping bags lay, again full of clothing or shoes.
"Are you OK?" he asked, she did not reply, so he asked her another question.
"Can I help you with something?"
The woman did not look towards him when she spoke, and when she did she began to say the same thing over and over, just in case the man did not hear her.
"Bags, I need bags!" repeatedly she said it another three or four times, "Bags I need bags, bags, bags, bags"
The man though concerned,decided that he would just get up stairs and find carrier bags in the kitchen, he knew where they were, and besides this lady seemed happy enough, to get her bags and go, when you carry so much stuff about with you, plastic shopping bags must be a helpful commodity.
"OK, I'll be back in a tick hen!" he turned, once at the stairway he was inside the flat in about ten seconds, going straight to the drawer in the kitchen he retrieved a handful of bags and went immediately back down the stairway, keen to give the woman her carriers, then he envisaged helping her out of the front of the building through the Yale lock secured front doorway.
As he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs he began to speak; "Here you ...!"
No woman, no bicycle, no bin liners, no noise, with no idea how she could have got out of the building unaided he went towards the front doorway, it was closed securely, he had not heard it slam shut as it always did, thinking this very, very strange he opened the door, putting the snib up, walking into the street, a long wide roadway where he could see in both directions, and besides, how far could she have got in the short fraction of time it would or should have taken someone with such a burden, bicycle, bags full of clothing etc.
Like a willow the wisp she had vanished, silently without fuss the lady with the bicycle may not have been there, 'Of course she was' he thought, she had spoken, he thought, to him.
A few weeks passed before the man and his wife were out in the overgrown back yard, pulling out a tangle of weeds and trimming the forest of shrubs bordering the small patch of land at the back of the building, sticking the gardening fork into a plant bed it came into contact with something solid, he Lent over and recognising the nature of the object he began to exert some force in his quest to tear it from the undergrowth, rusted and bent, a black racer type bicycle with straight handlebars, it looked to have been there for a long, long time.
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