MADDY
I was riding to the supermarket, ready for my version of a Big Shop, which is easy enough to fit onto even a small bike when you live solo, and it was a miserable day, joy to the world. I was musing on whether it was time to get some better footwear for the bike, or at least some waterproof over trousers that were actually proof against water, when the handlebars started to twist in my hand as the rest of the bike shimmied frantically from side to side. My hand let the throttle close, and thank god I didn’t grab the front brake, but as the engine slowed I coasted to a very wobbly stop, where I sat astride the little machine trying not to hyperventilate. What the hell?

As I paddled the bike into a side road and under a bus shelter, I realised what was up, or rather down, and that was my back tyre. Shit, shit and once more, shit. I took a seat in the shelter, which was keeping most of the rain off, and dug out my mobile. Who to call?

The RAC and AA did bike recovery, which was nice for their members, of which I was neither. Leo’s phone when straight to voice message, and my parents---. No. Not any kind of option there whatsoever. I checked the bus timetables under their glass covers, and there was a bus that would get me close to home, but that would mean leaving the Purple Pixie to be stripped by passing feral chavs. What to bloody do?

I took off my helmet, stepping out into the rain so that I could cry properly without it showing. FUCK! Story of my life in one neat package; and then I was laughing, as a seriously filthy analogy struck me, and suddenly the rain was too cold. Up and down, me. I settled myself onto the seat once more, and started the process of hunting down motorcycle shops on my phone’s mapping op. Surely one of them could offer a pick-up and repair, and hopefully a warming cuppa? The next few days would have to involve takeaways or deliveries, shit once again.

I heard engine noise, which was heading my way, and in the distance I could see a single headlight, and to my delight it was slowing down. It was a BMW from the tank badge, with a cylinder sticking out to each side of the engine, and the rider was staring hard at me.

“Maddy?”

I started looking for an escape route.

NEIL
I could handle being underwater, but rain was different. This was the sort of fine stuff that penetrated everywhere, especially down the back of my neck. I had splashed out, aptly, on some Rucka salopettes, but when worn over my other clothing they made me feel like a barrage balloon, and getting on and off the bike a dance against gravity and balance. At least I had done my usual trick with the current Beemer, and changed that death trap of a side stand. I mean, I had the Zed Thou as well, but the Beemer spoke more clearly to my soul in its simplicity. I was heading down Bradley Crescent, Vee Wipe doing a decent job for once, when I spotted a moped on its centre stand in a bus shelter, the rider slumped on one of the seats. As I slowed down, I recognised her. I stopped a bit quickly in front of her, and flipped up my visor.

“Maddy?”

Her head jerked up, and she flicked a glance to either side. She looked terrified. I shook my hand to say ‘No’, realising she couldn’t see me through the helmet. Would she remember me?

“It’s Neil in here. I don’t want you frightened. Are you all right?”

Keep the count going. Remember she can’t see your face.

“Hang on while I get this off the road”

There was an entrance to a sports ground a little past the bus shelter, so I rode the Beemer in there and set it onto its centre stand. Big chain lock through the back wheel, disc lock on…

Stop it. Tray and act like a bloody human, Strachan. I concentrated on my breathing till I could feel myself starting to function a little further into the ‘human’ bandwidth, then walked back to the shelter, undoing my helmet as I went.

Balaclava, man, Take it off. Smile.

“I thought it was you. Didn’t know you rode a bike. Is it having problems?”

She waved at the back wheel, her mouth twisting, an expression even I couldn’t miss.

“Flat! Nearly bloody came off, it squirmed that much”

“Can I look at it?”

“Got a spare one?”

“No, but I might have something at home that can fix it. I make my own mushrooms and do them in reverse and…”

I stopped the prattle as quickly as I could.

“I have something that might work. I will have a look at it and see, and then we can decide what is best”

“If you could…”

She stopped, shaking her head.

“I can wait here for you, as long as you aren’t too long. I’m starting to get really chilled”

“Where were you going?”

“Asda. My weekly shop”

“Ah. So was I. I have hard cases instead of throwovers”

STOP IT!

“I have a suggestion. I can fix the tyre, but I need to go home to get my kit. If I lock up your bike with my locks, I could take you to the supermarket and leave you there. You get your shopping, and I pick you up once I have fixed your tyre. Your bags will fit into my cases. I bring you back here, you then ride home. Day isn’t a wasted one”

MADDY
I had never actually been on what I thought of as a grown-up bike before, But Neil turned out to be a really calm rider. I lost count of the number of locks he applied to my Purple Pixie, but some of them attached the bike to a signpost, I suppose on the logic that Neil looked as if he could pick up my whole machine, possibly with me still on it. The ladies’ at the shop had hot-air dryers, and the attached café sold me a hot coffee. Neil was off straight away, and I did the rounds with my list before settling back down with another coffee. It was ninety minutes before he was back, meeting me as arranged in the café, where I had moved on to a hot chocolate and a toasted sandwich.

“How was it? Please spare the details”

Oh, you absolute bitch, Gibson. I tried to soften my words.

“Is it rideable?”

He nodded, clearly not trusting his own mouth, then started to speak more slowly. I noticed his fingers flicking next to his leg, and realised he was following some sort of counting routine.

“I tried using a slime mix. That’s a gel you blow into the wheel and it seals holes but there was a hole that was too big and—”

He stopped abruptly, looking up at the ceiling before bringing his gaze back to the table.

“You had a nail in the tyre. Holes like that can be sealed with a mushroom, which is a patch on the inside of a wheel. It has a stalk that goes through the hole, and that is why it is called a mushroom, even though mushrooms have stipes…. I have made a tool that lets me seal a mushroom from outside the tyre. I then put the slime mix in, my own mix, and let it get under the patch before pulling it tight. That pulls some of the slime through with the stalk stipe stem and seals that bit. Then I pump the tyre up, and that presses everything together before I cut off the extra bit of… stem. I waited half an hour to see if it was going down again but it’s still holding pressure so it’s fixed can I get some shopping. Before I take you back. To your bike”

I insisted on standing him a hot drink, noticing a few grazes on his knuckles. He caught my stare, and shrugged.

“I get worse cuts in caves. Oh, and I have a spare tyre for you as well. I went to a bike shop just in case the repair didn’t work”

Bloody hell: all of that on the strength of one conversation?

NEIL
I filled a basket with a few microwave meals and two pints of milk; once clear of the shop, I started to repack my cases to fit stuff in. My foot pump was bungeed to the top of the rear case, and I realised how useful it was that Maddy was tall, as it made it easier for her to slip onto the pillion. She really needed some better gloves, and her overtrousers were far too thin for my liking, but at least she didn’t try to ride the bike for me. Ten minutes after we left Asda, we were at the sports ground, and her little bike was still there. Once she was off mine, I set it on the side stand and started breathing so that I didn’t end up explaining the problems with said side stand. Maddy bounced the back of her bike on its suspension a few times to see how the tyre felt, then turned back to me.

“You have been amazing, Neil. How long will this repair last?”

I nearly put my foot in it yet again, and rapidly rephrased what would have been ‘You’ve let your tyre get very worn and it’s dangerous to do that (etc.)’ into

“I think you’ll need a new tyre soon anyway, so best thing to do is change it as soon as you can”

My mouth ran away from me, and rather oddly, I realised it was happening for once.

“I can do that for you”

She stared at me, and even with my problem I could see that she was weighing a lot of things up at once.

“You sure?”

I nodded.

“Absolutely. It’s only a dinky one compared to mine, so a lot easier. I do almost all of my own maintenance because [breathe] I know what I’m doing, and I don’t trust strangers”

She stared hard at me for a few seconds.

“Yes. I am much the same. Probably for a different reason, though”

She was still staring at me, which was making me wonder what I had missed this time.

“Neil, may I ask a favour?”

Suddenly, she was laughing, and as her face changed with the mood, I realised how strong her features were. I had not really learned to read beyond the more obvious expressions, but my mind was picking up all sorts of clues. Added to her own comment about strangers, I gathered she was another person carrying heavier loads than most. She turned away to wipe her eyes, and that was when I realised that she had been her own model, as the pose emphasised the curve of her shoulder and hip… and I realised I had missed something when she said my name once again.

“Sorry. I was thinking”

“So was I. What made me laugh… Look. When that tyre blew, I thought I was going to come off, be hurt, die, something nasty. I was…. Unhappy isn’t really the right word, nor adequate in any way. Then you come along, and bang, bang, bang: you not only solve all my problems, but spot another one, well before it’s obvious, and you solve that one as well. And here’s me saying, can you do me a favour?”

“It was ‘may I ask a favour’, Maddy”

“Same difference! Anyway, you’re sure the tyre’s fine?”

“Yes”

“Well, I am not doubting your work, but, well, I am still really, really shaken. Would you mind following me back to my place, just so I know I’m going to get there alive?”

I pointed at my own bike.

“I’ve still got your shopping in there”

“Would you mind leaving it there for now? Make the Pixie a little lighter? Oh, sorry. Neil, Purple Pixie; Purple Pixie, Neil”

MADDY
I had no idea what I was doing, or rather whether I was being an idiot, but there seemed to be no malice whatsoever in the big man. I couldn’t work out whether he was simply utterly clueless about sociability, or somewhere on that famous spectrum, but every so often, he smiled, and those eyes, oh dear.

I also wondered about OCD, given his finger counting, but that didn’t fit with the rest of his behaviour. What I was picking up, I realised, was someone with a very sharp focus and a lack of social awareness coupled with that bastard hag of self-awareness riding on his back. He didn’t just lack it, he was fully aware that he did.

The revelation came a few minutes later, when I saw how alike we were, in essence. I had watched other women all of my life, knowing who I was but unable to speak the words, out of fear. Neil…

Bugger it.

“Neil, how long would it take to change that tyre?”

“Half an hour but I haven’t got my tyre levers or the grease I use on the bead”

You are definitely being an idiot, Mads.

“Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“Marzipan and Marmite”

Oh dear.

“Would you have time to come back after I get home, with your tools and stuff? I could cook you something, or there’s a few places to eat near mine. Would you have time for that?”

“You don’t have to do that for me. I can do the tyre with no problems, though”

“I know I don’t HAVE to, Neil, but I would LIKE to. Just to say thanks. I saw what you bought at Asda, and I am certain I can find something nicer than your shopping. Oops”

“Oops?”

“That was a bit rude”

He changed the subject abruptly.

“Do you have more pictures to show me?”

“Oh dear me, yes! It’s my job, after all”

“Then if I come back for the tyre may I bring some of my own photos?”

I managed not to blurt out that I had been stalking him on line, but only just. He followed me back, I stowed my shopping while he gathered his tools, and sneaked out to the Little Waitrose for a posh ‘joint for two’, which went into my oven just before his return. I watched him from my front window as he worked, my thoughts tripping over each other as I did my level best to sort and file them.

I could sense no harm in him at all, not the slightest glimmer of a threat. He looked to be five to ten years younger than me, and while he was swathed in his rather bulky bike clothes he didn’t seem to be fat at all. And those eyes, oh my.

My nasty little mind was sniggering now, that I had already got him to fill one hole for me with his stalk/stipe/stem: was I angling for a different one to be similarly plumbed?

Shit. I dug out my diary and, yes, it was four weeks since the last time. There is a lot of wishful thinking about HRT, and some trans women claim they have a menstrual cycle, just without the messy bit. I am not sure about that, but I do know that ever since my body settled down to the removal of testosterone and the introduction of oestrogen, I do have a cycle of sorts. Not menstrual, obviously, but it shares one aspect with that process in that I get randy for a few days every four weeks or so. Not enough to be a problem, but still noticeable.

It had caused a problem with my ex, for he wanted it whenever we met, while I tolerated it only up to a point, except for when I really wanted it, and that was the end of my one LTR, if four months could fairly be described as ‘long term’.

Grow up, you stupid woman. Stupid trans woman. Stupid ugly trans woman.

An old joke came to mind, and I found myself laughing again. ‘I’m so ugly my vibrator won’t switch on till I put a bag over my head’.

Vibration… Pixie’s engine… I was so glad I had been wearing overtrousers, for my jeans were now soaking to get rid of the little bit of piss I had let out when the bike tried to go sideways, which was the only reason I had changed into a dress before Neil’s return, honest.

Up and down; I went to check on the joint in its little foil container, and got the ‘rowan and whatever glaze’ ready to add to the thing.

‘I’ll cook you dinner’, said the woman who couldn’t even get crackling to work on a pork joint.

NEIL
My hands worked without conscious thought as I swapped the tyres, while my mind ran at double speed. I couldn’t work out what she wanted, but she was being much nicer to me than other women had ever been. By ‘women’, of course, I included girls, for several had been the quickest and loudest with that name, ‘Spacky’. She wasn’t a girl, as she was a bit older than me, and she didn’t seem to need to faff. A decision was made, and she carried it out. Her nuances were like her pictures, and so many of my own, in being monochrome.

Never mind: my only planned task for that evening had been developing a couple of reels I had used on a windy day at Stanage Edge. They were sort of monochrome, as long as I kept heather or grass out of the frame, but held explosions of colour from some of the climbers I had included in the shots. If…

The tyre was done, so I took another few minutes to adjust and lubricate the chain and check the head bearings. Fine. Pack up my kit, lock it into my top box and collect my hand cleaner and photo case. Would she have a sink I could use?

When she opened the door, I saw she had changed into a dress, a sort of overlapping wraparound thing, in a dark blue. I liked it, was my thought, almost immediately followed by ‘I like it on her’. Careful, Neil. I slipped my boots off after I had stepped into the hall, noticing the framed prints on the walls..

My stomach reacted first, though, as my nose caught the aroma of roasting lamb, and my guts rumbled loudly. Maddy laughed out loud once more, which seemed to be her thing.

“When did you last eat?”

“Yesterday, I think. I have been busy and lose track of time”

I showed her my hand cleanser and wipes.

“Do you have somewhere I can use this?”

“Bathroom’s at the top of the stairs, to the right”

“Thank you”

“Do you drink?”

“No alcohol when I am on the bike”

“Tea, then? Or maybe a coke?”

“Tea please. White and without sugar”

I climbed the stairs to the room in question, and it was a little awkward, for she had things, underwear, hanging up by the shower, as well as a pair of jeans soaking in a bucket placed into the bath. Hands washed, and eyes under control, I left the bathroom, passing a couple of open doors. The second was clearly her bedroom, but the first opened on a very bare room, fitted with spotlights and a long mirror.

‘Shoulder and hip’, obviously. No sneaking around, Neil. And the roast lamb was calling.

MADDY
I plated up the carved ‘joint’, what there was of it, with a few of the cook-from-frozen roast potatoes and little Yorkshire puddings together with some steamed fine beans and set the two plates on my little table-for-four together with a jug of instant gravy and a jar of Waitrose mint sauce. A far cry of my usual dining in experience, which involved a cushion-based tray and an armchair. Neil was down in about fifteen minutes, his padded trousers and jacket now hanging by my front door, and I saw that he was most definitely not fat. I indicated the teapot under its cosy.

“Be Mother, please. That way you can get it at your own strength. I’ll take it as it comes”

Oh, stop it! And don’t even think of mentioning cream—it’s milk. Change the subject.

“What pictures have you brought for me?”

He launched into another mega-detailed description of some he hadn’t brought, that were awaiting development, and I held up a hand to cut him short.

“Neil! Now, I am going to be rude, sort of. I apologise for that, but I do need to ask. Please just listen for a few… I am going to guess you sit somewhere on the autism spectrum. Doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing, but there’s only so much detail I need. That anyone needs. An image should speak for itself. Please answer this with a nod or a shake of your head: do I offend you when I stop you speaking?”

He stared at his plate for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“Good man. Now, start again about the photos you haven’t brought. I will ask questions, and that should help with the pacing”

“I have a diagnosis of borderline Asperger’s”

I sighed.

“I had guessed at something like that. Is that tied in with the finger counting?”

He looked up sharply, and those eyes set me a little adrift, but his expression was of surprise rather than anger.

“You noticed that?”

I just nodded, and he smiled.

“I have a therapist, and she has given me some techniques. I know I talk too much, and she called it ‘spewing detail over people’. If I say more than twenty words, she tells me, I am probably talking too much. So when I feel stressed, I count”

“What happens if you are really stressed?”

“I forget to count. That’s a lot worse. I got called things at school because of it and they called me ‘Spacker Stracker’ for ‘spastic’ and my surname which is Strachan and---”

I raised my hand again, and the flow stopped. The poor, poor man. My problems were utterly trivial in comparison.

“That rule again, Neil, but this time either nod or shake, or say yes or no. Am I stressing you?”

“Yes”

“Is there something I can do to ease the stress”

“Talk to me like you’re doing”

He drew in a long breath, then another, and suddenly he was talking almost normally.

“My therapist says I need to have boundaries set to curb my verbal diarrhoea. That’s her term. That’s why the twenty words thing. If you can keep me within boundaries it might work”

“Would you like that?”

More breathing, then a grin, and yet again, oh my.

“I don’t get to speak to many good-looking women, or any women at all, so yes please”