Track Record (1) – Jenny 11

[For back story go here: Story so far at 12 June 2020 ]

There was a time when Jenny cycling to work was regarded as a huge novelty by the vast majority of people who knew what she did. Busses and local train services would have got her where she wanted for to go, but being healthy and active in every part of her life there was no reason why she should take a short cut – so to speak – for this regular journey.

However, the vast majority of people were now also cycling with her, so she'd not just become the norm, she'd become part of the everyday mass-commute – one in a growing crowd, and a crowd which grew more dangerous by the day. She didn't like this feeling, the camaraderie had turned into the type of competitiveness for road space that she associated with fighting for seats on public transport and was precisely the reason why she started biking it in the first place.

There was now an even bigger challenge aside from the ride itself. Repairs and maintenance. There wasn't just extra pressure on the cycle lanes there was extra pressure on the cycle shops too. As a result she was now in the kitchen with the rear wheel off her bike hoping firstly that the final puncture repair kit she had in the house was going to work and secondly that through her own tactical bending and pushing, she could get the kink out of the wheel put there when an over-zealous man in purple lycra who had barged his way past – no through – her on Friday.

To this room of stress there then entered Helen, accompanied by Izzy. If ever Jenny had a sense of being ganged up on before anyone had open their mouths to gang up on her, this was it.

"So Izzy agrees with me," said Helen. "There's no way I should go back to school this week.”

Jenny blinked twice – admittedly to make sure they'd both seen her reaction already and then simply said… "OK, whatever," and got back to the task in hand.

Helen was clearly exasperated. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes," said Jenny and got back to the task in hand.

Helen looked at Izzy. This look was clearly meant to say: "see how unreasonable she's being please can you talk to her and make her see the light?” but it was somewhat unnecessary.

Peter came into the room, ignoring everyone else, mainly because he was playing music very loudly through his headphones. Letting the tempo give his movements flow he helped himself to two pieces of white bread which he slammed into the toaster. With a flourish of the wrist, reminiscent of a certain high profile rock star, he opened the fridge and located the margarine.

Helen was about to leave, so Jenny hit her own response button.

"It's fine because I'm assuming Izzy will be taking care of you and your home schooling while you're at home, and that she’s also taking care of the fees for this term that will need to be paid even though you're not there, and the hassle we're going to get for your non-attendance and subsequent lower exam marks, and the pressure we'll have to deal with in order to keep your space open for September. Assuming you're both going to agree that you go to school next September."

There was a pause. Jenny was very pleased with herself. The wheel looked perfect.

"I'm not going if Peter doesn't have to go because it's not fair," said Helen, and walked out, pushing past Izzy, also very pleased with herself.

Peter rocked on out as the toast sprang up into his waiting hand, was slapped onto a plate and smothered in marge.

"So you don't want to discuss this properly?” asked Izzy.

"You don't want to discuss it properly," corrected Jenny, "just like you don't want to discuss work, or Peter or this house or...  Us. Or us. You don't even want to discuss us. Properly.”

"You're never here," said Izzy.

"I work, remember work?” cried Jenny, pump in hand. “That place with the office where they're trying to get stuff built? You used to go there. You used to like it there. We went there together, you saw me there, we had lunch together and everything. That's where I am and when I get back from there you're all the way upstairs. Tell me when and where you want to discuss things and I promise I will be there.”

“So I need to make an appointment, now?” said Izzy.

“You need to make an effort. Now.” Said Jenny.

Izzy turned on her heel and went the same way as Helen, but definitely not pleased.

Pater danced on. With a piece of toast lodged in his mouth he waved one hand in the air and danced like no one was watching, semi-pogoing out of the kitchen, bathed in the euphoria of the track his was lost in.

Jenny looked at the wheel. It was flat.