Read this original contemporary non-fiction extract.

The bicycle had spent three winters upside down in the shed, its wheels raised uselessly in the air. When I lowered it to the floor, it seemed to straighten itself and wait for me to fail. One handlebar drooped, the chain hung loose, and the front wheel pointed away like a stubborn foot. Even before I touched a tool, the machine looked accusing: a crooked question mark made of rust and dust.

I had promised to repair it before the weekend. Now that promise seemed foolish. I arranged the equipment on the bench. Spanner. Rag. Small tin of oil. I held each object as carefully as borrowed cutlery. When I tried to loosen the first nut, the spanner slipped and struck my knuckles. I stepped back at once, as though the bicycle had warned me.

Grandad was sitting on the shed step, watching without interfering. ‘Start with what moves,’ he said.

I spun the front wheel. It turned, but a brake block scraped against the rim on every rotation. I adjusted one screw, tested the wheel and adjusted it again. Gradually, the scrape thinned to a whisper and then vanished. I had made silence. It was only a small success, but I found myself reaching for the next tool without being told.

Halfway through the repair, Grandad went inside to answer the telephone. Almost immediately, the chain slid from the largest cog and collapsed in a dark heap. I nearly called for him. Instead, I crouched beside it and looked closely. The chain was not a puzzle now but a path. One link around the cog, one link beneath the guard, one link after another. When I turned the pedal, the chain travelled with it: click, click, click.

By the time Grandad returned, the bicycle was standing on both wheels. It no longer resembled a question mark. I wheeled it outside, placed one foot on a pedal and pushed. The pedals caught. The wheels turned. The shed door slipped behind me.

My hands were black with oil, but they rested easily on the handlebars. For the first time that afternoon, I was not waiting for the bicycle to tell me whether I could do it.