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It’s real. It’s here and I’m off!
Dream Bike – Jez
Roar of the engine coming out of the bends. Rush of warm air through the visor. Blurred curve of hills against the snaking road. Eating up tarmac before slowdown through suburban semis. Turning heads as we weave the traffic until Martin pulls the purring beast into the bike shop’s car park. He jumps off, shaking his sweat-damp hair as he removes his helmet.
‘Fooking hell, that is some bike. Insanely powerful. Fooking lethal.’ Big boyish grin. And he’s right. This is some ride.
‘Sex on wheels, truly.’ Slide myself forward to driving position. Look down at the matt black curves, polished aluminium, and those massive titanium covered forks. ‘Can you believe they had my dream bike here?’
‘Can’t believe they let me test drive a brand-new Yamaha VMax.’ Martin unzips his leather, wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Fuck it’s hot, aren’t you ready for taking your lid off?’
I lean forward for the last moment of fantasy riding before jumping off and removing my helmet. How intense is the heat today, banging off the sticky tarmac? That like hot country smell of petrol and chip fat with a whiff of rotting rubbish. Not even a fantasy. I can have my dream bike.
‘They’ve always been good to me here, since I did the Kick Start thing,’ Martin says. ‘No way would most dealers let you take a bike like that out, especially when there’s no chance you’re buying.’ He moves over to a line of shade by the back wall of the shop and pulls out a pack of Marlboros. Lights up and inhales as he casts his eyes over the bike.
I take off Martin’s spare leather jacket and stand next to him against the wall. Take a fag off him and smoke it while I build up to what I’ve got to say.
‘Who says we’re not buying?’ The words come out like all croaky.
‘Yeah right. You’re talking sixteen grand, never mind what it would take to insure. Alright mechanics’ wages aren’t bad, but if you think this is in my league… And before you start I ain’t nicking it neither.’
‘No, I’m going to give you the money to buy it for me, right, and you’re going teach me to ride it.’ My heart’s thumping. The bike I fell in love with, joked with Ken about buying. Chances of that? And Martin’s in town. Go with it, girl. It’s meant to be.
He turns to look at me open mouthed. Cigarette burning to the stub in his hand. ‘Man, you are fooking joking me.’
I shake my head slowly, draw on my fag and exhale. Look him straight in his pale piggy eyes.
He stares back for a moment, then drops his tab and turns towards the shop.
‘I’m taking the keys in and then us’ll go for a bevy to cool down. The heat’s gone to your conk, man.’
The pub’s beer garden is just a yard, weeds straggling out of the cracks. It’s rammed, being a sunny afternoon, but I manage to nab a table in the shade as the couple who were there drag their screaming kid away, scattering crisps as they go.
I wave to Martin, coming out with the drinks. He makes heavy weather of crossing the yard in his biker boots and leather trousers. T-shirt with dark patches of sweat. His neck and face puffy red. Yellow hair stuck to his head.
‘Fooking jiggered, man, this heat does not suit me.’ He squeezes himself onto the bench seat.
‘No, you’re best served cold,’ I smirk. Truth is he’s not much of a looker, but he was always my favourite foster brother. And he mostly tried to keep me on his side. Would it be because I was prepared to cover for him?
‘I’ll gladly sit mesen in a fridge; have all the lasses after me.’ He pulls that stupid grin. Takes a long swig of his drink then looks at his glass. ‘That’s not touching the sides.’ He takes another draught. ‘Shandy, mind, seeing as I’m driving.’
‘Aw, so law abiding!’ I laugh, and down some of my drink. Best take it slowly with Martin, like let him chill a bit.
‘How long did you say you’re in town?’ I ask.
‘I’ve got the week off, so as long as me mam’s OK with it I’ll probably stay while next Saturday or Sunday.’
‘And is she? OK I mean.’
‘Yeah, she’s champion at the moment. She’s got a new shrink who she actually likes. Not had a drink for a while, neither.’
‘Has she still got that boyfriend?’
‘Religious nut, you mean?’ He pulls out his Marlboro and lights us both up. He tells me how last time he was there, the boyfriend had locked his mum in her flat to make her dry out. Martin kicked the door in and called the pigs.
‘I asked for that copper who knows me, right? The one who got me onto Kick Start,’ he explains.
‘So, he let you off kicking your mum’s door in?’
