“Can you talk? Are you on your way?”
“Yes, Bluetooth in the car.”
”Good, come home quick, I think she’s only gone and done it.”

He hangs the car keys up by the door,
“Have you seen this?” she says, holding the letter, “It’s from her, I think there’s clothes missing from her room, I can’t really tell, maybe some of her kit, her favourite hoody….”
Saying nothing he turns and grabs the garage keys, returning almost instantly.
“Her bike is gone, maybe some wheels too. Check her Facebook, Instagram, where was she last?”
“Hold on,” as she scrolls through, “no, nothing, nothing since Nic’s birthday.”
“Phone her”
“It goes straight to voicemail”
“Then text her”
“Done that too, all it says is ‘message failed to deliver’. What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know, bloody network, it’s never been the same since they put that cell tower in.”

They both sit down at the table, she reaches out to his hand.
“When do you think she went?”
“She could have gone as soon as we left for work, she’d had all day I suppose”
“Do you think we should phone the Police?” “But she’s not really missing is she?” he says, nodding to the letter, “Besides, we both know where she’s headed.”

Brussels Central station is not for the faint hearted, even in the dim artificial light of day. Sure there’s armed Police trawling around but her spider senses are on full alert. Travelling lightly as possible she holds her bike bag and holdall close and tightly, weaving her way through the crowds. Feeling tired and feeling weary she struggles to focus on the time tables in the screens above, her concentration nulled by a decent dose of jetlag. Deciding she needs some food first she stops to buy a local sim card on the way, slipping hers under the picture she keeps in her purse, of them all down at the bach last summer.

One chocolate waffle and her sugar levels are high enough to face the regional train schedules. She isn’t going far, just has no idea how to get there. Smiling, she recognises the all place names from the races. She’s finally here, after all that planning, all those years, she is right here, in the heart of it, exactly where she’s meant to be.

Rain pounds the window as the carriage pulls out under the low skies, her eyes flitting across the graffiti, eventually onto the flat fields and brown shiny roofs. She has an address to aim for, that’s all, well, that and a name. Standing outside the station she pulls her hood up, puts her rain cape on and walks the rest, bouncing the bike bag across the cobbles, praying the castors survive.

“Ah, Melanie, yes,“ he says, “this way, I show you.”
The address was the flat above a greengrocer’s shop, “You are sharing with the others upstairs, but the bikes stay down here,” as he points to an area by the cool store, wheels hanging up from the roof, track pump and tools littering the floor.
“Where’s the rest of the bikes?”
“Ah, they are all out already, all the girls, training. Today they ride the canals, easy day after the race. Leave it there, we can build it later, now I show you where you sleep.”

Opening her eyes slowly she tries to focus.
“Wakey-wakey sleepyhead, come on, it’s time for the highlight of the week!”
“Yep, get up, our treat!”
Real introductions were made riding into town on the grocer’s townie bike, her flatmates pretty friendly, really tight. Laughing and giggling with each other, she’s thinking this is what it must be like if she had siblings.
“We weren’t expecting you today, Tom said maybe tomorrow. He’s working in the garage today, he does a few hours, did you message him?”
“Ooh, my phone, the sim card, I forgot to….”
”Here we are, best crepes in town, this will put you right, our shout.”
“Yeah, it’s our ‘Welcome to Flanders treat for you!”

He couldn’t hear what she was saying over the noise of the coffee grinder.
“What?”
“Look”
“What? What am I looking at?”
“The photo, it must have come last night, she’s messaged me on Facebook, at last”
“You’ve heard from her? Here, er, hold on, I need my glasses, where is she?”
“Look, that’s her, right in the middle, see?”
“Yeah, what’s that kit she’s wearing, those green shorts, that’s new kit that is.”
“Yeah, and look what’s she’s got.”
“Flowers, is that a podium?”
“Yeah, she’s in the middle, top step, she must have won a race.”
“Message her back, go on, Facetime her.”
“Do you think she’ll pick up?”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out, press the button, that one, that one there…….”

“Hey Mum……. you got the picture?”

Inspired by a story reported in Daily Mail Feb 27th 1969