“NO! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING? GET IT OUT NOW.”
“Calm down love, she needs new rings it won't take long.” Ken laid a gentle hand on the Triumph's tank and didn't realise that although talking to Sheila he was actually stroking the bike.
“Why don't you take it to bed as well, you've not shown me any affection like that for months.”
“Oh come on love we always....”
“No you always... you pitch in here drunk when the pub shuts, bang away for a couple of minutes and you're snoring before you've even rolled off. That's not affection Ken. You've got more love for that damned machine than you ever had for me, now get it out. Look at the state of the place.”
“You used to love it on the back, hanging on to me, belting up the A1.”
“Maybe but that doesn't mean I want it sitting in the middle of my kitchen leaking oil everywhere. Look at it, you can't even move with that thing in here.”
It did pretty much dominate the small prefab kitchen, Ken's attempt to put an old sheet down was a bit of an after thought anyway but it was scuffed up under the bike now and even where it had caught the oil it had soaked through to the lino.
“It's only a spot or two, go on I'll put the kettle on you'll feel different after a cuppa.”
Ken moved the cylinder head along the draining board and mopped the trail of oil with his sleeve as he reached for the kettle
“DON'T TOUCH IT! Don't touch anything. Don't even move, look at the state of the place. There's not one thing you haven't got oil on For gods sake it's a kitchen not a garage just get it out of the house, now.”
Well where am I supposed to do it woman?
I don't know, in the shed, round at Charlies, anywhere but in my kitchen.
“There's no room in the shed, Charlies away at the TTs and she's already stripped down, anyway it'll only take a week.”
“A WEEK! I'm not living here with that thing in the middle of my house for even an hour I'm going to me mums and don't even think of calling round until that things gone and this place is spotless, the whole place stinks of oil.”
Which was true but it depended on the wind direction whether it was engine or chip. Sheila grabbed coat and bag with one hand and slammed the door behind her hard enough that the whole wall shook. Ken raised a hand but quickly left two finger marks on his forehead scratching a non existent itch as the door flew open again. She wailed and looked around for something to wipe off the oil she'd collected from the door handle, eventually settling for the tea towel Ken had already ruined. She threw it at him and pointed a loaded finger screaming.
“...and don't you dare think that about me.”
The door slammed again leaving that moment or two that was more silent than silence. Ken looked at the bike then back at the door and thought if he tried he might be able to make it stretch to two weeks. Bloody women why were they always so unreasonable.