The Bicycle Thief — a short story for English reading, speaking, vocabulary & writing

“Wait, that’s my bike!”

But it was too late.

Mabby had only left it outside the shop for two minutes. She thought, it’s only two minutes, and this is a quiet neighbourhood.

No one will take it, it will be safe.

Then a look in the shopkeeper’s eye. She turned and saw a figure getting on her bike.

She ran outside, but it was too late. She stood in the street as the thief made off with her bike.

Mabby didn’t even call out after the thief. It would be a complete waste of time.

Nothing she could do.

She went back into the shop. The shopkeeper made some comment about bike thieves being very common in this area. Then she paid for her items and trudged home.

On the way back home, she thought of all the reasons she needed the bike. She depended on it every day to get to work at the hospital.

Working such irregular hours, her bike seemed the most convenient — and cheapest — way to get around.

But she also used it to go to the shops. Like today.

To visit her friend. To go to the train station when she went to visit her parents.

And she would leave the bike everywhere.

No one would steal it because it was worthless. Just a cheap, old bike that was of no use to anyone.

Except to Mabby.

And good luck to the thief in trying to sell it.

Mabby had lost count of how many times she had cursed every time the front tyre would let air out too quickly.

How the seat was wonky and how drivers would speed by in bad weather, splashing her with dirty rainwater.

Without the bike, getting to work would be a nightmare.

Going to visit her mother would now become much more of a task.

Without the damn bike, she now realised that life would be just that little bit more difficult.

She got home and thought about calling the police. But what could they do about it?

Oh hi, yeah, I’ve had my bike stolen.

Join the club, love. Bikes are stolen every day in this city.

Mabby put the kettle on and made a cup of tea.

She had work that night. The night shift. She didn’t even know which bus to take. There must be a timetable online or something.

Irritation crawled across her skin like a rash. Who would take such a cheap, terrible bike?

Then, without a moment’s thought, she put her jacket back on and marched out of the house.

I’ll find him, she thought to herself. I’ll find this thieving little rat who took my bike.

It wasn’t about the bike. In monetary terms, it was worth nothing. No more than twenty quid. But in terms of value to her, it was everything.

Mabby headed straight back for the row of shops.

She asked the shopkeeper what the thief had looked like.

He just shook his head.

“He was wearing one of those trendy sweaters with the hood on top,” he said.

“A hoodie,” said Mabby.

“Yes, one of those things. I couldn’t see his face. Those hoodie things should be made illegal. We need to see people’s faces.”

Another customer in the shop joined in, the two of them airing their views about how terrible modern life was.

Mabby left the store and walked in the direction the thief had taken her bike. She passed other shops. She asked in two of them. But no one saw anything.

She realised it was a stupid thing to ask.

Did you see a thief going past your shop on my bike?

How would they even know?

She trudged to the end of the road and came to a junction. She had no clue which direction to take.

What a waste of time.

With no other choice left, she went back home. On the way back, she called her friend, another nurse at the hospital. She told her the news.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” her friend said. But she didn’t sound so upset.

Mabby realised that this would only truly affect her. That losing her bike would have no profound effect on the world.

Life would continue. There would be no mention of a thief taking her bike on the six o’clock news.

The theft of her bike was all in her world, but as she stared out the window from her kitchen, she could see life still going on, the world still turning.

Birds chirruped and flew between the trees.

Next door’s cat sashayed across the lawn like a supermodel.

A lawnmower buzzed away in the process of cutting grass.

Life went on. And no one cared about Mabby’s bike.

She stared down at her hands. The work they carried out each day seemed all the more valid.

Saving people’s lives, taking care of the sick and elderly, nurturing and protecting. She saw that in the grand scheme of things, her hands would continue to perform the labour they were trained to do each and every day until she herself was too old to continue.

This was far more important than a rusty old bike with a bad tyre and an uncomfortable seat.

She smiled to herself and looked forward to the night shift she was about to do.

Later, after eating, she showered, changed her clothes, and then went downstairs to leave for work. She was leaving one hour earlier than usual, but she had no idea what time the bus came and went.

She thought it better to be a little early than one minute late.

Her job was more important than that.

She opened the door, stepped out into the cool evening air, and closed the door behind her.

As she got to the front gate, she saw her bike.

She stared at it in disbelief. Maybe it was not hers at all, but on closer inspection, she saw that it definitely was her bike.

Attached to the front, a note.

Mabby pulled it away and opened it. It read:

I’m sorry for taking your bike earlier today. I needed it for an emergency. You really saved my life.

I saw that the front tyre was bad, so I had it replaced. And the seat seemed to move around, so I put a new one on.

I know it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.

You will never know how much you helped me today.

Mabby looked up and down her street as if to see a clue. Someone standing there, too shy to approach her.

But the streets were completely empty.