His Answer for Koen

Koen didn't ask how the race had gone. He looked up from behind the counter, said good morning and asked Marten to hold the door a moment. A customer came in with a bike, stepped aside for someone going out and was already explaining the noise he heard when he rode.

Marten stayed until both had passed. Only yesterday he'd imagined today would be some sort of different world. The same bikes stood there as last week. Someone had hung a price tag upside down. The lad at the back of the shop was humming a tune he seemed to know only the end of.

Only after Koen had helped the customer through to the workshop did he come and stand beside Marten.

'Go on, then.'

'I want to do it.'

Koen looked at him. 'You sound as though you've just climbed a fence.'

'Only crossed the road.'

'Tricky too.' He pointed towards the little office. 'Come and sit down.'

Marten knew the little office by now. Two chairs, a desk, a window looking onto the side of the building. On the wall was a photograph of cyclists outside a café. Not one stood squarely facing the camera. He found that a reassuring approach to a group photograph.

Koen didn't immediately look for the paperwork. He asked whether Marten wanted to change anything about the job before they put it in writing.

'No,' Marten said. 'I kept wanting to know before I said yes.'

'What, exactly?'

'How it would feel to actually do it.'

Koen nodded. 'You won't entirely know that tomorrow either.'

'I know.'

They went through the first few weeks. Marten would start in the second week of February. Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday, thirty-two paid hours in all. The evenings with the recreational groups were included. No second working week added on for the fun of it. He couldn't simply leave on a busy Saturday because he wanted to ride somewhere himself. Koen didn't make a solemn pronouncement of it. He needed people in his shop.

Marten asked what they did if someone wanted a Saturday off. Ask well in advance, Koen said. Sometimes they could swap, sometimes not. Better for both to know early than be grumpy about it afterwards.

'I do have family as well,' Marten said.

'I thought you only knew other men in tight clothing.'

'A few of them are doing their best to stop that.'

Koen laughed. Then they got out the document Marten had already read. The amount hadn't changed. He could live on it, eat and keep cycling. He would spend less on riding once every race no longer had to be a step towards another possible season. He didn't yet know exactly how that would feel. He signed.

Koen slid his copy across and began discussing the keys he'd get when he started. Marten listened. He didn't suddenly need to know more about the business than yesterday to be the man coming to work here.

As they walked back into the shop, Koen finally asked how the race had gone.

'Sixth.'

'Were you pleased with that?'

'Not yet.'

'I thought not.'

It was enough. Marten didn't have to provide evidence that he'd really have won if everyone else had ridden better. He described where the two leaders had gone and how he'd tried to recover something at the end. Koen listened while straightening a pile of receipts.

'Will you still race?' he asked.

'I think so. Differently.'

'Tell us when you know. Saves us finding you on a start list online.'

Marten nodded and put his copy in his bag.

His old rear wheel was ready by the workshop. Koen explained what had been done and handed it over. Marten had spent all winter looking at things that needed a decision. This wheel had simply been repaired. He paid and carried it to the car.

Before getting in, he called Bram. His coach answered with someone in the background asking for a time. Marten said he could ring back. Now was fine, Bram said.

'I've said yes to Koen.'

'Good.'

The word came straight away. Not as a verdict on his sixth place. Marten told him when he started. They arranged for him to come and round off the winter and return a few things that belonged to the group. Bram suggested Thursday. Marten checked his diary. He could do that.

'I still want to talk to you about yesterday,' Marten said.

'I was going to anyway.'

'Not just the lap when they went.'

'I understood that.'

Marten stayed by the car until they'd agreed when to meet. Then he stowed the wheel and drove home. At a traffic light he saw a man on an ordinary bike working his whole upper body against the wind. A little later the man overtook him on the cycle path as the traffic stopped. An engine was no use when everything ahead stood still.

At home he got his bike ready. He took his time. No hurry for a training session that otherwise wouldn't fit. When he'd finished, he put on his ordinary coat and rode through the city. The bike felt familiar, and a little different after so long without using it.

The first open stretch brought a crosswind. He had to fasten his coat further, then noticed he was riding faster of his own accord. Nobody was ahead. He didn't have to decide whether to hold a wheel; he could simply watch the light falling through bare branches onto the road. In a car park a woman pulled a dog out from behind a car. The dog had found something more urgent elsewhere.

He chose a detour he'd often taken when he didn't want to watch the time. There was a stretch of bad road where he still knew exactly which part was pleasant to ride. A man tentatively put a foot out at a crossing. Marten stopped and watched him look first at him, then the other way. He crossed with a hand raised. Marten set off again.

His legs were still heavy from yesterday. On a slight rise he wanted to make an effort better saved for another day. He began it anyway, and at the top had to laugh at how little the world was impressed. Two crows stayed beside the path. A walker didn't look up. The birds stepped aside and pecked among the grass again.

He rode until he reached the street where he wanted to turn. A bus stopped ahead at a bus stop. He waited. Someone got off carrying a large bunch of flowers and called something to the driver before the doors closed. The flowers seemed far too summery for the bare street. Marten watched them go, then turned his handlebars the other way. He fancied some good bread.

He didn't go far. He passed his sister's street, thought she was probably at work and rode on. At a bakery he got off. He bought bread and something he'd only meant to look at. The woman serving asked whether she should wrap it. Yes, he said. Otherwise he'd eat it on the way.

On the way back he noticed he didn't want to accelerate for anything. He wasn't proving that riding slowly still counted as cycling. He had a loaf under his arm and wanted to get it home whole. He was panting at the door because the last stretch had been harder than expected. He laughed at himself and put the bike in the hall.

Fenna was coming tonight. He'd known it all morning without tying his decision with Koen to it. Now the visit meant more. She would be here. They would see each other without their next ride interrupting.

He took his phone and typed that he'd been to Koen's. He'd accepted the job. She didn't reply at once. He didn't need to adjust it until it sounded as though he was really asking her a question. He put the paper in the drawer with the other documents he wanted to keep.

Then he looked at his living room as though expecting someone who'd never been there. Ridiculous. Fenna knew how his sofa felt and what in the kitchen didn't work unless you lifted the door a little. She'd seen him first thing in the morning, hardly the first impression he'd have recommended.

He sat at the table and unwrapped the food. Some of it would serve two, but he didn't leave it waiting for company. He was hungry. He ate the end slice, then cut another slice of bread.

His sister called while he ate. He answered and told her he'd signed. She said she was pleased for him. Then she was quiet for a moment.

'Now you'll ask whether I'm pleased,' he said.

'No. I'm waiting for you to finish chewing. Takes you three subjects these days.'

He swallowed and leaned back. She asked about the work, not what title he wanted to give it. He described the shop and the groups. She thought he ought to work in a bike shop where some customers didn't know everything he'd already done.

'Thanks.'

'I mean that kindly.'

'Makes it complicated.'

She told him about something at her own work that now had to be done again for the second time. Marten listened and asked what she wanted to do about it. She didn't know yet. He asked whether she'd said the same to her colleague. No, she said. Then she told him what she had said. He laughed and asked whether the colleague had too.

After the call he put the bread away and got out what he needed for dinner. He chose something he could simply make. He had nothing to prove to Fenna with a dish that needed her as an audience. He wanted a meal she could linger over.

Towards evening she messaged that the Danish confirmation had come through. She'd said yes. He read it, smiled and felt the old pain of that one small word. He was happy for her. He didn't want to lose her. Both were still there.

Great, he sent. See you later.

He'd put music on, turned it down a little and stood beside the table. He wanted to tell her he wanted to be with her. He was afraid of what she'd say. Far more afraid they'd both be so careful again that by the end of the evening they still wouldn't know.

When the bell rang, he was already heading for the door before he could pretend to be calmly occupied. He opened it. Fenna looked at him, her cheeks red from the cold. She had no kitbag.

'Hi,' she said.

'Hi.'

She came in, hung up her coat, turned and stayed close to him. Marten saw her mouth, the movement as she took a breath to speak. He wanted to move towards her before he knew where the conversation began.