Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Lindsay & Tony Bloody Southon - Pt 10
"That wasn't like you, Reilly."
"Pardon," he looked up at Southon's younger brother, Peter.
"That wasn't like you, getting help for him. I thought you'd be happy to walk away and leave him in pain if you hate him so much."
"I couldn't do that. I don't hate him."
"He thinks you do."
"Well I don't. He hates me anyway.'
"He doesn't you know."
They all sat in silence for a couple of minutes, then all stood up when the doctor came back out.
"Don't worry," the doctor smiled. "Everything's fine. We just upped his medication a bit. He'll be needing painkillers for a few days."
"Oh good," Mr. Southon replied. "Thank you Doctor."
He hurried away, (busy man!), they all sat down and silence reigned again.
"Where did it happen?" Lindsay asked suddenly.
"Where?" Graeme replied. "Up the Gorge Road of course.” At the one-way bridge, this side of Hawkin's Crag, just past the Blackwater River."
"Oh, thanks."
After a few more minutes, Lindsay stood up and said that he had to go. He walked out of the hospital and Graeme Southon followed him out.
"Reilly, wait up."
"Graeme?" he answered, a bit nervous, Graeme Southon was a year 13 and big too.
"Over there," he waved at the high school across the road. "There are about four hundred students and teachers over there, and you're the only one who bothered to come and see him. Thanks Lindsay.'
"I. . well, I wanted to. Thanks Graeme."
He left but he didn't go back to school. The day was nearly over now anyway. He walked home alone, feeling really bad for Tony. That was just stink. It could happen to anyone, but he didn't deserve that. And his bike! His brand-new bike was all smashed up. What a bitch.
By the time he arrived at home, he'd made a decision. He got changed, got on his bike and headed off out of town. He was going up the Gorge Road to the "scene of the crime." It wasn’t that far, about 27 or 28 kilometers. He'd be back before dark, no problems.
He was only a few K's out of town when the school bus passed him. Someone mooned him from the back window, cheeky sods. (Bum-cheeky.) He didn't know the face.
The bus disappeared in the distance and he carried on pedaling. When he crossed the bridge over the Blackwater River, he slowed down and cruised along slowly. The one-way bridge, when he came to it, was in the middle of a long sweeping curve in the highway.
The river was through the trees on his left, and there was a high, rocky, cliff on the right. Not much room to move really. There were black rubber tyre marks on the tarmac and broken undergrowth on the right-hand side of the road. This was it then; where it had happened.
Lindsay braked and stood straddling his bike and looking around. It was a quiet peaceful place, just the sound of the wind in the trees, some birdsong and the noisy river below. A pleasant spot, just one of the many corners in the Gorge Road, and Tony had been smashed off his bike here. He could have died here. Bugger.
He stood there in the peaceful sunny place and tried to picture what had happened. Southon would have been coming around there, minding his own business, quietly biking to school, and the car came from that way.
The driver was probably not watching what he was doing. He was probably looking at the view of the river below the bush-clad hills, and he turned too far, veering to the right-hand side of the road. He must have seen the boy on the bike, panicked, braked and skidded right across the road, and smashed Tony off his bike. Right over there. He'd flown off the road and into those trees, and landed there, broken, battered and bleeding. "Oh, Tony."
Broken trees, flattened grass, black skid marks and glints of broken glass on the road. There were rusty-brown streaks on the seal on the side of the road. He walked his bike across to have a closer look and, when he realised what they were, he burst into tears again.
It was blood, Tony's blood. His precious life-blood leaking out of his battered body and pooling on the ground. Oh Fuck! He could have died. He could have died right there, on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, and Lindsay would never have seen him again. "Oh, Tony!" he cried and cried until it seemed that he had no more tears to cry.
A car went past on the other side of the highway. A car full of strangers. Probably more bloody tourists. He pulled himself together, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, got off the bike and carefully laid it down on the grass on the side of the road.
It hadn't happened, the kid was alive. He was in the hospital and they were taking care of him. He'd get better, he'd be back, back at school, smiling that smile and annoying Lindsay again. Good!
He didn't want to imagine his life without Tony Southon in it, he loved him. He knew that now, he loved Tony Bloody Southon and he always had, ever since the day he first laid eyes on him. He loved him. He loved his smile, his eyes, his throaty laugh, his fine brain and his sexy body. He loved everything about him.
Tony might not like him, they might never be more than rivals, but at least he'd be around, smiling that smile, laughing that laugh and, hopefully, being the same happy, handsome boy that he'd always been. Lindsay was not going to bug him any more. He'd leave him alone, stay away from him and try not to annoy him. He'd be happy just to see him around, being happy, being Tony.
Something caught his eye. The late afternoon sun was glinting on something lying at the bottom of the deep ditch on the side of the road. His bike! Tony's precious and shiny new bike, lying down there, smashed, in the bottom of the ditch. It couldn't just stay there; he had to get it out.
Lindsay carefully climbed, and slipped, and fell, down into the mini ravine. Ow! He wasn't hurt. He'd be embarrassed if anyone saw that graceless descent, but there was no-one around, so that was all right..
He parted the branches and there it was - Tony's bike, shining and broken. A tangled mess in the bottom of the ditch. It took a long time, but he managed to free it and worked his way back up to the road-side, slowly lifting the bike up and out to the grass verge. It really was a hunk of junk now.
Exhausted, he carefully laid it down in the grass and sank to his knees studying it. It wasn't that bad really, just twisted, a few bits broken off here and there. The speedo was smashed. It should be repairable, yes, of course it was - it could be fixed. It was not like there was any rust on it, it was a practically-new bike, of course it could be fixed.
He couldn't do it himself, he didn't have the tools, or the know-how, but it could be fixed. The bike shop could fix it. He was going to do it. He was going to get this bike into town, put it into the bike shop and get them to repair it. He could afford it, he still had most of the orchard money, from last summer, just sitting in the bank, doing nothing.
That was going to be his mission. He was going to get poor Tony's poor bike fixed up as good as new and he was going to give it back to him, and he wouldn't have to know who'd done it. Why? Well, because. Because it would be a nice thing to do and it would make Tony happy. It wouldn't hurt to do something nice for him for once in his life. If it made him smile, it would be worth whatever it cost. Anything for Tony.
So. The first problem was, how was he going to get it back into town? He couldn't ride it - not bloody likely! And he couldn't carry it, unless he walked and that was too far. So . . . Connie! Connie would get it for him. She could borrow her dad's ute, she drove it all the time. He'd go back and get Connie and ask her to come out and pick up the bike and take it into town.
He couldn't just leave the bike on the roadside, someone might pinch it, or run over it, again. So he hid it in the trees on the left of the road and raced back into town to get Connie.
She didn't take much convincing, not when he told her what he wanted to do, and, with his bike on the back of the truck, they drove out and collected Tony's. She did tease him a bit about "having it bad," but laid off when she saw how upset he still was.
It was Friday night, the shops were open late, so they were able to get it into Anderton's Cycle and Sports shop before they closed.
Mr.Anderton whistled when he saw it. "This is the Southon boy's bike, right? Yes, of course it is - I just sold it to him. Poor little bugger. How's he doing?"
"He's in the hospital. He's got a broken arm, but they say he'll be all right. Can you fix it, Mr. Anderton? I want it fixed up as good as new."
"You do? It might be easier just to buy a new bike you know."
"No. I don't want a new bike, I want this one repaired. Can you do it?"
"Yes. Yes of course I can do it, but it's going to cost you. There's a lot of work here - that front wheel needs replacing for a start, it's beyond repair."
"I don't care what it costs. Just fix it please, Mr. Anderton."
"Okay kid, I like a challenge, we'll see what we can do. You're going to pay for it yourself, are you?"
"Yes, of course. Whatever it costs."
"Can I ask why?"
"Because. Well, because I want to do something for the "poor little bugger.""
"Right then. Come back tomorrow and I'll tell you what it's going to cost."
"I don't care. I don't care what it costs. I'll sell my own bike to pay for it if I have to."
"Really?" Mr. Anderton said, eyebrows raising. "You love that bike. I've seen you riding around, here, there and everywhere. You've got a top-notch cycle there and you've got real potential too. We've been going to ask you to come and join the cycle racing club."
"I do love my bike, I really love it, but I'll sell it if that's what I have to do."
"Okay Lindsay. It won't come to that, we'll work something out, and I'll fix this mess. Your friend must be really special to you."
"He's - umm - he's not my friend, but yes he is special. Thanks Mr.Anderton."
Outside the shop, Connie helped him lift his bike down to the ground, and then she kissed him.
"Eww. What was that for?"
"Because you are the special one. I love you, kid, and I hope that one day, someone will love me like you love Tony Southon."
"Shut up Connie. I do not. I just want the bike fixed."
"Yeah, right! Well, I'm off home. See you, Lover-boy."
"Yeah. Laters Connie, and thanks. Thanks a lot."
"Not a problem, Lindsay my Love. Anything for you, and for true love of course."
"Shut up Connie," he grinned and blushed. "Go home."
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