Milan wasn’t quite as easy to escape as I’d anticipated. I got lost three times before I found the main highway out.

Being chased by police didn’t help – every time I heard a siren, I’d turn into a sideroad or alleyway and wait to see if anything would pass. When they didn’t Henry and I would slip back around the corner while I tried to work out which way I’d been going. 

Eventually, I found myself on the highway. A large sign indicated that France was only 240 kilometres away and I threw back the throttle so far that little Henry began to whine. Still, it wasn’t quite enough to keep up with the cars that flashed past us. I kept well to the right, but even then, the rush of wind and occasional spraying of gravel were my constant companions. 

I’d been on the highway for half an hour when two things happened at once. Firstly, I noticed a blue and red flicker in Henry’s sole wing mirror.  Turning my head and wobbling, I saw a police car weaving its way through the traffic in my direction, I revved Henry a little harder. 

The second thing I noticed was his fuel gauge sitting on empty which put to bed any ideas of trying to outrun the cops. 

I’d spotted what looked like a petrol station around a kilometre back and considered pulling a U-turn. However, four lanes of speeding cars to my left made me rethink this idea. 

I peered back; the lights were getting closer. My orange fuel light had come on. Time to make a decision Danny.  

So, I did, there was a ditch next to me. Nothing too deep, but enough to cover me and a scooter named Henry. 

I slowed slightly, watching my wing mirror until the police car’s view was blocked by a large truck, then I swerved into the ditch. 

Poor Henry’s suspension made a cracking sound as we left the road and his engine died as we landed in the ditch. I didn’t fare much better. The ground slipped from beneath us and my arm got crushed underneath Henry. 

While I rubbed my elbow the two of us crouched in the drain, waiting with bated breath for the police car. Five minutes passed, then ten. I unscrewed Henry’s wing mirror and held it up, using it like a periscope to check the road. No police cars were in sight. 

I pulled Henry’s keys from his ignition and placed my distinctive pink helmet to one side. Moving in a crouch, I made my way back along the drain towards the petrol station. When I got there the pump attendant was watching a television screen. On it, police helicopters were flying over the city. 

I bought a small jerry can and filled it with petrol. The attendant hardly looked at me when I paid for the fuel, as I placed the money on the bench between us the man said something in Italian and pointed at the screen. 

Then he frowned and an odd expression came onto his face. He turned back to me.

I grabbed my fuel and left. Walking towards the drain as fast as I could without actually running. The man came out of the store and shouted something at me in Italian. I didn’t turn around. 

The moment I got within sight of the drain I was sprinting. By the time I reached Henry, my throat felt raw.

I grabbed the key, unscrewed his tank and poured the fuel into it, spilling a little as I went. 

With the tank full, I used a piece of rubber to tie the spare fuel onto Henry’s seat, then hauled him up onto the road again. 

Panting, I kick-started his motor and the sweet little scooter roared to life immediately. I threw on my fluro helmet and sped away.

****

That repeating pattern became my life for the next sixteen hours, every time I spotted a cop trailing me, I’d throw myself and Henry off the road. Twice I had to stop near petrol stations to get refills and both times I thought about sleeping. But I knew that I had to get as much distance between me and the city as possible.

Plus, every kilometre that ticked over on the scooter’s speedometer felt like one kilometre closer to Ayamin. It was only as I was approaching the afternoon of my second day that I had to stop. I found myself wobbling into the lanes next to me and was woken from my half-sleep by the horn of a truck, I only just swerved myself and Henry out of its way before it squashed us.

Henry and I crawled under the shelter of a lone tree in some farmer’s paddock off to the side of the highway. While Henry rested his engine, I dug into the bag Gianina had given me and pulled out a ton of Italian food. 

After demolishing eight slices of an enormous pizza and washing it down with water from a nearby creek, I crawled under a woollen blanket and tried to fall asleep. Roots beneath my back meant I kept shifting around, trying to find a more comfortable position. 

I thought about Ayamin, I wondered where she would be right now, and if she’d got my message. 

The moon arrived. I thought about how strange it was that Aya and I could be lying on the same stretch of road, potentially just a few kilometres away from each other and looking at the same moon. 

At some point, I fell asleep. 

****

The next day it began to rain. I thought about staying under my tree and crashing there for the day but the thought of missing my meeting with Ayamin kept me going. 

‘Come on Henry,’ I said, loading him up with my belongings, ‘Time to go buddy.’

Towns and trees and turnoffs passed and eventually Henry the Vespa crawled up the slope towards Briancon – the same place I’d read about with Ayamin. 

I could’ve pushed him harder, could’ve revved his little engine like crazy, but Henry had got me this far, that pastel blue workhorse had managed to carry me all the way to France. 

Plus, I reckoned we still had a few kilometres to go after we got to Briancon, hopefully with one more passenger. 

There was one other reason I was driving like a snail. It was the main reason. The one deep inside of me that I didn’t want to think about.

I was going slow because I worried that Ayamin might not be there. It was like the longer I took to get to Briancon the longer I still had a chance of her being there. 

At the same time, all I wanted was to get to the top and see her. So, I was in this strange crazy conundrum – some might call it love. 

I laughed out loud and listened to it ricochet from the walls that made up the edge of town. 

A few people were wandering the streets of Briancon, some were tourists buying handcrafted jerseys. They watched me as I rode the Vespa as slowly as I could through town.

It doesn’t matter, I thought, because she said she loved you too. She’s probably thinking the same thing that you are. She’s probably up there pacing away and wondering where that idiot got to. 

I increased the speed of Henry as a smile rode on my face, she’s waiting for you, I told myself as the church steeples appeared. There was something about the church, it almost made me want to get married. 

My thought train stopped as Henry rounded the sloped street, the whole church was standing before me. The lights had just come on and even in the evening light they illuminated the steps, and sitting on the steps waiting patiently was…

No one. 

 

****

 

Hope is a very dangerous thing. 

Hope meant I sat on the steps of that church until both the moon and stars had come out. I sat there shivering until I was forced to admit that she probably wasn’t going to show up tonight. When nearly everyone had gone to bed, I parked Henry a little way behind the church and found a gutter to climb up. 

After dislodging a little snow from the roof, I climbed into a sort of cave made by one of the building’s spires and spread out my lone blanket. 

Things were a little colder in the mountains, but I still managed some sleep.

In the morning I ate, climbed down and sat at the steps waiting. Today’s the day, I told myself. As I waited a few locals came and talked to me. They asked their questions in French which didn’t make things easy for either party. The two languages I spoke – Arabic and English were probably the two least useful languages to speak in that part of France. The moment I said a word of either most people just turned their heads and walked away. 

Not that it particularly bothered me. I had more important things on my mind. Top of the list was – where is Ayamin?   

I waited, and waited, and waited some more. The whole day I sat on that church step, watching the world go by, and of course, waiting. I wasn’t patient. Every time someone emerged on the other side of the town square I leapt to my feet. Every time was a disappointment. 

I felt like kicking the church down. 

The day wore on. Members of the church gathered inside. After they’d finished singing French hymns an old gentleman with an English accent offered me some bread. I took it and thanked him as he disappeared inside. 

The sun went down and so did my hopes of seeing Ayamin again. She wasn’t there. 

Like a sloth, I climbed back up onto the roof of the church where I pulled my blanket over me, but that night I couldn’t sleep. 

The sun rose and I shivered in my blanket, but when I touched my skin it felt hot. 

I crawled from the roof of the church; my muscles barely functioning as I climbed my way down the guttering. I fell the last two meters. 

When I reached the church steps, I pushed olives from the jar Gianina had given me into my mouth and hoped their saltiness would take away the dry feeling in the back of my throat. 

My legs got a little cramped after a while so I stretched, then I sat again and waited. When the sun fell, I was still alone.  

 

By the third day of waiting a fever had taken over my body – this was not helped by my blanket which wasn’t thick enough to keep away the night’s chill. 

Ayamin was the one thing that kept me moving. 

I pulled my blanket and bag down with me. Taking the old guttering one rung at a time. Three rungs down my foot slipped. I tried to cling to the building but my hands were sweating and weak.

Bit by bit they slipped, I found myself falling and next thing I knew, I was on the ground with a shoulder that hurt like hell. 

Very carefully I picked myself up. I was crying and sniffling like a three-year-old, I could tell I wasn’t really in full control of my body. 

When I moved my arm, a pain stabbed through it but I could still twist and move the thing which meant it probably wasn’t broken – just bruised. 

After clearing away most of the snot and tears I plonked myself down at the church step and slowly began to eat stale bread from the bag. 

The bread was hard to swallow and hurt my throat when it went down.

‘Excuse moi!’

I looked up and swallowed forcefully – just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse – a policeman had shown up. 

I held up my hands, sick as I was, I knew there was no way I could outrun the policeman, plus he’d know the town much better than I did. The policeman said something else in French, so I pointed to myself, ‘English,’ I croaked.

The man rolled his eyes, then sighed, ‘Of course you are,’ He turned and beckoned to me, ‘Follow thanks.’ 

With a cough, I picked myself, my blanket, and the bag up from the step and trudged behind him. It was still early and there were only store owners in the square so far. Still, most of them watched as I made my walk of shame.

It was ironic really. I’d come all that way, evaded half the Italian police force and I’d been caught by a lone officer in a mountain town in France.

I was led to the door of what looked like a small apartment building across the square from the church. 

The policeman knocked three times and waited. While he waited, he looked me up and down, then pointed to my nose, ‘Sick?’ 

I nodded.

The door opened and the old gentleman who’d given me the bread appeared. I wiped my nose and wondered if the church man was some sort of commander. The two men talked in French for a while, the cop kept pointing at me while the old man pointed at the church, he had a bemused look on his face. Eventually, the cop left, and the old man looked both ways before beckoning me inside. 

My bag bumped on the doorway as I entered. There was a staircase right in front of us. 

‘You can leave your bag and blanket down here,’ he said, ‘And please shut the door, it’s rather cold out there.’

As I followed the man up the steps it quickly became apparent that I wasn’t entering a police station of any sort.

Instead, I stood in an old bachelor’s flat.

The room at the top of the stairs was sparsely decorated; a sofa, coffee table, and bookshelf made up the living room while the smell of tea came from the kitchen.

‘I was just brewing a pot when I got Officer Bisset’s knock.’ the man said. 

Pulling out two cups and pouring enough tea for both of us he offered me milk and sugar before pointing out that sitting on the couch beat standing. I took a seat and so did he. 

I stared at the cup of tea in my hand. My shoulder hurt like hell. I put the tea down, determined to ask whether I could leave now that I wasn’t being arrested. 

But the old fogie got there first. 

‘So… you found sanctuary in, or should I say on, the house of God.’ He smiled, ‘What led you here son?’

I shrugged, unsure of what he wanted me to say. I wasn’t going to give him the whole story but….

‘A girl,’ I said, ‘I’m waiting for a girl.’

‘Ahh,’ The man said, ‘I thought it may have been Jesus that led you to our church.’

I laughed, it hurt my throat but it felt good, ‘I think even Jesus would be pleased to meet this girl, sir.’ 

He frowned, but very slowly it turned into a smile, ‘Perhaps there is a higher purpose to your coming here.’

The man paused for a long swallow of tea, ‘Officer Bisset and I are wondering if you would like to stay in my flat for the next few days,’ he gestured around, ‘As long as you promise not to steal anything, I’d be glad for the company and…’ he pulled back the curtain, ‘You even have a view of the church should your good lady arrive.’

I smiled and told him I wouldn’t take anything (leaving out the fact there wasn’t much worth taking).

‘It’s done then,’ the man said, holding out his hand, ‘I’m Graeme.’

I shook it, ‘Call me Danny.’

****

The days passed slowly in Graeme’s house. I spent most of my time at his window watching the church. 

Every few hours Graeme would turn on the kettle and grab two cups from his dish rack. 

‘How about a cup of tea?’

My answer was always yes. The hot liquid seemed to calm my nerves a little. Graeme wrote letters and we played a bit of chess. Despite the warmth, I think I was more miserable there than on the roof of the church. At least outside I had the cold to distract me. 

It was five days after I’d got to Graeme’s flat that he started trying to reason with me. 

We were playing a game of chess in front of his windows. Every few minutes I’d glance out at the church. A mist hung in the air and tourists wandered about aimlessly between stores.

‘See here boy, suppose she doesn’t show up, I don’t think you’d want to spend the rest of your life here waiting.’

I shrugged; I didn’t know what else to do. 

Graeme took out my queen, knocking it to the side of the board.

‘A lot of people think losing their queen means the game is over. The truth is… the game isn’t over until it’s over. Sometimes you can play better without it, and of course, there’s always the opportunity to get a new queen.’ 

Graeme paused and checked to see whether his words had any effect. Some small part of me understood him, but the rest of me was screaming for Ayamin. I avoided his eyes by looking out the window.

Out at the church was a girl with a beanie on. She was sitting on the steps like I had been, gazing around like she was looking for someone. My heart sped up… it looked like… Ayamin. 

‘Your move Danny.’ 

I was still staring out the window. The girl had got to her feet. Started to walk. What if it’s her… you’ve waited all this time and she’s just going to slip away.  

I stood, knocking over the chessboard.  

‘Hey, Danny!’ Graeme called.

I was running. Down the stairs and into the square. The whole way to her I held my breath. I’d been wrong before. I stopped just a few meters away. Her back was to me. 

‘Ayamin?’ 

The girl turned and stared at me. I felt like crying. Her clothes looked different than from above. She had a more rounded face than Ayamin.

She asked a question in French – then pointed up to the church. 

I shook my head and turned away from her. In the window Graeme stood watching, disappointment hung on his face as he bent to pick up our game from the floor. 

The French girl was trying to ask me another question, but I ignored her as I dragged my feet along the cobbled square. I wondered how I’d apologise to Graeme for messing up. I didn’t feel like sitting around anymore. I wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole and just lie there for a while. Part of me wondered if I’d ever be okay. The air was cold on my forehead. I had a headache. I realised the French girl wasn’t wearing a beanie. The girl I’d seen out the window had a beanie.  

‘Hey Danny.’

I stopped short and held my breath. Every muscle in my body was taut. In front of me, beanie in hand, stood Ayamin.