I have decided to treat the whole episode like an outing to the Zoo. The best way to run this new branch of my enterprise is to see the cyclists as horses, dogs, cocks – animals, plain and simple. Speaking animals.
I’ve set Paul up for a trial, with the three famous brothers: Harry, Leonard, and Percy Wyld. The Wyld Bunch, as they’re advertised. They grumble a bit but when it transpires that their manager owes a considerable amount of money to Mr Morton, they stop. They gather around Paul’s bike, and nod approvingly, feel the handlebars, lift it once or twice, hold it by the saddle and spin the back wheel. These men are like dogs; I’m expecting them to sniff each other’s crotches, and pee in the banked corners.
It turns out Harry has had a fall. He’ll be coaching from the side of the track instead, something he seems quite happy with.
As Paul, Leonard and Percy warm up. I go and stand to one side. I am the only person on the stands apart from a caretaker, who is picking up litter from the night before. Judging by the size of his sack it was a successful evening. When I ask him about it he shrugs his shoulders, says it was quite average. About eight, eight-and-a-half-thousand people. The financial cogs in my head turn a little faster. The man’s words, and my experience of drunk people betting and getting it wrong, make me smile. I know Saturdays and sometimes Sundays at Herne Hill are big, but a Tuesday night right after Easter? At Moorgate? At a small oval with rundown stalls? At a place with no glamour? Astonishing.
The cyclists warm up at a blistering pace. It’s beautiful the way they fly. It makes my lungs hurt just watching them. I light a cigar while they do sprints and formations, pedalling too fast for me to see whose legs are whose. Afterwards they slow down, come high up on the banks, and swoop down – ballerinas on bikes.
Harry shouts something about fifty laps and they come off the track. They stand in front of me; a crescent of men with slicked-back hair. The experts and the apprentice.
‘He goes too high up, comes too close, isn’t too sure of himself or how to handle the bike, can’t properly judge distances or speed,’ says Leonard. Paul hangs his head. He’s strong but has nowhere near the level of stamina the Wyld boys possess. Even I can see that.
There is silence for a moment.
‘But for a first-timer, he’s not too bad,’ Leonard continues, and the surge of relief on Paul’s face is so obvious and childlike I can’t help but smile.
‘He’s obviously a quick learner,’ Leonard says ‘but, as he’ll tell you himself, he needs a lot of training to keep up with the big boys.’
Paul nods.
‘He would be good in a team time trial. He’s so broad, he blocks a lot of the wind. And if he was fast enough and Percy could hide behind him, he could prove to be useful.’
I send Paul out on the track for another few laps. Nothing too strenuous, just to get some exercise, more experience. In the meantime I speak with Harry, and arrange for him to meet me at the Rising Sun on Chalton Street later in the evening. I think he and I could strike up something quite interesting.
***
After the trial I take Paul to the eel and pie house. He looks happy and exhausted at the same time.
‘I was hoping you’d be faster than them,’ I say winking to Belinda as she takes our order.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘But I will be. Just need to get to know the tricks and the pace.’
‘And how will you do that?’
‘By going to the races, by speaking to Mr Lauterwasser, by training and trying to get into the races myself.’
‘This offer of money has a time limit, you realise?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And you need to start performing soon, or my patience will run out.’
‘I understand,’ he nods seriously.
To do my job properly, to get the most out of him, I’m pretending to be angry with him. As it is I don’t mind what he does. It’s good if he stays in my house, it’s great if he starts winning races, and the combination would be fabulous. He looks at me, all earnest youth, and says, ‘I promise to do my best.’
I wave his sincerity away like a bee. Then we order. Or at least he orders. I don’t like eel much.
‘Oh, I meant to tell you,’ he says once we get the food, ‘I’ve got a job.’
‘You have?’
‘Well, the fruitmonger on the corner came and saw me in the house. He’d heard I was looking for a job. Luckily his horse went lame on the same day, so I said I would deliver all his vegetables for the same price as the oats and straw he would have spent on the horse, till he sorted it out. I would even provide my own bike.’
‘That’s a terrible deal for you.’
‘I know. But that horse is not going to get any better soon. If it’s lame it’s headed for the knacker’s yard.’
‘So you hope that once he realises you’re cheaper than buying a new horse, feeding it, keeping it and so on, he’ll hire you properly?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You’re an errand boy?’
‘The way I see it I’m being paid to train, and I like getting to know the streets anyway.
‘So you’re a professional? The fruit and veg man just happens to be your main sponsor?’
‘That’s a good way to describe it.’
‘You are peculiar.’
‘Thank you,’ he says, smiling.
‘It’s not a compliment. Not necessarily.’
I watch him load mashed potato into his mouth. Don’t tell him the fruitmonger was so scared his teeth were chattering when I spoke to him. He would have offered Paul a job even if Paul was lame. But I won’t mention it. A man’s pride is more important than his hunger or money, in fact more important than anything. Besides I made sure the fruit man got a decent price for his old horse.
‘I worked all day today in fact. Deliveries from five to five,’ Paul says. ‘Went straight to the velodrome.’
He moves his shoulders, as though there’s something sitting between his shoulder blades, and I think of the hundreds of kilos of potatoes and apples he must have carted around in the morning before the Wyld trial. He should have said something.
I order more food for him and lean back in my seat. I like to sit and watch him regain his strength.
‘Have you been in to see Belinda?’ I ask, but he just shakes his head, mouth full.
Once we’re done I tell him to go and rest or something. He lumbers off with the air of a dismissed employee. That’s not to be underestimated, but in fact I was pleasantly surprised by his form and his ability on the bike. I’m no expert, but I could tell there is potential in the boy.
I walk over to the Rising Sun and sit so that I can see the people coming in. Turns out Harry is quite the drinker, but before he gets too incomprehensible, we agree to some kind of terms whereby he advises Paul on racing, but only gets paid once Paul starts winning. We also agree to enter Paul into a race sooner rather than later.
‘There’s only so much training you can do,’ Harry tells me. ‘Besides, you can’t really prepare for races. So we might as well push him in with both feet.’
I nod and order more drinks.
Harry continues, ‘There’s an easy one at Peckham in a couple of weeks. If you make sure he gets there, I’ll see him right.’
Eventually I get up, but Harry stays on. I leave him a little bit of money and he looks up at me with the grateful eyes of a Spaniel. I like the man, he’s competent and knows a great deal about cycling and cyclists. He can bridge the gap in my knowledge until I’ve learned enough for this new venture. Once I know a little I can transfer my skills from horses and boxing and so on. Till then, I’ll use Harry as a teacher for Paul.
I put on my hat and walk outside looking for a taxi. Not finding one I decide to walk for a while instead. Swinging my cane and whistling. I smile to myself, I’m either drunk, or excited about the future. Maybe both. It’s been a long time.