Page 70 of The Side Road
Mia had seen the vehicle. Although the driver seemed old, there was a young man in the back seat. She told Oliver theywould have already called for help or contacted roadside assistance. Besides, the young man had two hands and a mobile phone. He could watch a YouTube video on how to change a tyre.
Unconvinced, Oliver turned the bike around and they headed back down the hill. At the bottom, they pulled up behind the station wagon and parked in the no-parking zone.
Mia stayed in the sidecar while Oliver dismounted. After pulling off his helmet, he tapped on the driver’s side window, and a brief conversation followed. When Oliver gave her a final nod, Mia knew an arrangement had been made.
Returning to the bike, Oliver confirmed they were not enrolled in roadside assistance, and they were waiting for the woman’s husband to finish work. The burly young man in the back seat, who looked to be in his early twenties, was disabled.
‘Right. We’re fixing the tyre,’ Mia said. She jumped out of the sidecar. ‘I’ve never fixed a tyre before.’
‘I’ll be the onechangingthe tyre,’ Oliver said. ‘You’ll be directing the traffic. Your job is to keep me alive.’
Mia considered the position of the station wagon. Parked on a blind corner where the lanes merged. Oncoming drivers, accelerating to get up the hill, wouldn’t see the parked vehicle until the last minute. The flat tyre faced the road. Oliver would be in the middle of the lane. A precarious position.
For many years, Mia had harboured a secret desire to direct the traffic. To control an intersection with a few simple gestures and a blow of a whistle was a skill. She didn’t have a whistle, but she knew the required hand movements. Palm stretched at arm’s length for the stop signal. A gentlewave from right to left would guide the traffic around the parked vehicle.
While Oliver rummaged in the boot of the station wagon for the jack and spare tyre, Mia practised her signals.
‘Okay, you’re on,’ Oliver said. ‘Remember, don’t get me run over.’
Oliver got to work with the jack. He crouched down by the side of the car, staying close to the vehicle. His speed and proficiency with the tools were impressive.
After walking several metres down the road, Mia positioned herself close to the curb. As the cars turned right, swinging around the corner, Mia used her sweeping gesture to guide them out of the way.
The first car honked. Ignoring her hand signals, it passed alarmingly close to Oliver, and the driver blared the horn again. The man in the following car yelled, ‘Idiot. You’re going to get yourself killed.’
Oliver put down his tools. He walked down the road and joined Mia.
‘Do you like me?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I like you very much.’
‘Then why are you trying to get me run over?’
‘I’m doing my best. Please don’t get angry.’
‘I’m not angry. I’m just wondering what this is.’ Oliver imitated her sweeping arm movement. ‘You look like you’re taking a bow.’ He held his hands out, palms facing the road, and bounced them up and down several times. ‘That’s the universal signal for slow down.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You do now.’
Oliver returned to the business of changing the tyre. The young man seated in the car lowered his window. He reacheddown and ran his fingers through Oliver’s hair. A head massage followed.
Oliver laughed.
Distracted, Mia missed the sporty two-door BMW that took the corner too wide, accelerated after the turn, picked up speed and missed Oliver by the slimmest of margins.
‘Fuck! Mia!’ Oliver yelled.
Mia stared at him, incredulous. ‘Did you just tell me to get fucked?’
‘No.’
She walked toward him with clenched fists. ‘That’s what it sounded like.’
‘I said fuck. It was one word, like a one-word sentence. Then I said Mia, and that was another one-word sentence. Two unconnected words. They were separate paragraphs.’
She took a breath. ‘Okay. Sorry.’
