Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

31

Alfie awaited the lad to arrive, rubbing under his nose with one of the new handkerchiefs and folding it back before returning it to his pocket. He didn't know whether he had started getting imaginary twinges, after reading that letter, or whether he was feeling under the weather, but he had rushed to finish his work before he couldn't work anymore. A quick glance at his watch and he sighed to himself.

More and more often, he had started to feel a tightness in his chest, a pinch of pain whenever he performed anything remotely strenuous and when anything had raised his ire. And things had irked him more and more often, too. Things he would never have expected to happen, but had now become a regular thing.

Eggs, thrown at his windows. Deliveries for fast food that he had not ordered. More and more junk mail. Little things and every single one of those things happened outside the view of his new security cameras, as though whoever orchestrated this campaign of intimidation had seen them and knew exactly where they could stand outside sight of the ever-present lenses. The eggs were the least disgusting objects thrown at his home.

He wasn't alone, either. Frederick and his mother had also suffered, with similar occurrences. Someone had targeted them and wanted them to live in fear. Alfie had a good idea who it was, but couldn't prove it. Not unless they showed themselves before his cameras. And the police had done nothing, citing there was nothing they could do. Quick to come and accuse a young lad, slow to care about vandalism.

He rubbed at his chest, frowning at the heat within, as though someone had reached into his body with white-hot hands and gripped his heart. He almost doubled over with the pain, but straightened up immediately, dropping his hand, as he heard the tell-tale shuffle of the lad's feet. Alfie wished he'd pick his feet up when he walked.

"Thy took thee time." He made a meal of looking at his watch. "Just woken up?"

"No. Yes. But Mum's in one of her moods again, so I had to make my own breakfast." The lad looked as though he'd dressed himself in the dark, eyes lidded as though he could fall back asleep at any second. "She's going to get fired if she misses work again."

"Thee mother's not well, lad, and she needs thee to support her. Never thee mind about complaining." Alfie had seen Esther fall deeper into her 'mood' over the last few days. "Now, is thy ready?"

Now the lad brightened up. They had both anticipated this day since the fishing trip that had caught nothing more than a lump of metal. Alfie had spent some not inconsiderable time on this machine, though things had become a little easier since Alfie had got his new glasses. Rubbing his hands together, he unlocked the little shed, Frederick attempting to peek around the door, and slipped inside.

He waited a little, building up the lad's anticipation and for a little revenge for Frederick taking so long to appear. Then he waited a little longer. Through the gaps in the wood of the shed, Alfie could see the lad pacing up and down, leaning in to peer through those self-same gaps, but he would see nothing. Alfie had left the light off. After a long enough period, he opened the door and wheeled out the bicycle and his heart ached for a very different reason.

The look of sheer joy and wonder on Frederick's face made all the work worthwhile. Alfie often forgot how giddy children could become and to see a face that, only moments ago, had looked still half-asleep and worried about his mother suddenly brighten, a huge smile spreading across his features, eyes widening, made Alfie feel almost as giddy. The lad practically jumped up and down on the spot.

It wasn't the prettiest bicycle Alfie had ever worked on, nor the most rare. It didn't have any innovations, or technological marvels. It was a basic, mass-manufacture bicycle, but, right now, it looked like the most beautiful machine to ever grace the world. At least in the eyes of Frederick and, through him, for Alfie, too. A Hanson Lightning. Brought back from ruin. Single gear. Brakes that were more likely to rub into nothing if gripped too tight. Seat adjustable only to a point. Perfection on two wheels. For a short while, at least.