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‘Gethin?’
How the hell does she know my name? Then I clock the pink Docs – it’s that biker girl who was in the museum.
She takes off her helmet. ‘It is Gethin, right?’ She jumps off the bike and offers me a cigarette from a battered packet.
‘Y… yes,’ I hesitate, waving no to the cigarette.
She lights up and I instantly regret turning one down.
‘Just wondered if you need a lift anywhere. I’ve got a spare lid.’ She points to a battered looking helmet strapped to her panniers.
I run my hand through my hair and scratch my head. I just want to be left alone. She takes another drag and sees me following the path of the cigarette.
She holds out the pack again. ‘You know you want to.’
So, I take a cigarette and lean forward as she cups her hand round her lighter. I can smell her damp leathers backed by a hint of musky perfume. I take the first drag and watch as she leans back against the bike. She can’t be much than five-feet-tall, but she’s chunky: all leather clad thighs, and big tits judging by the bulk of her jacket.
‘Sorry, never said, I’m Jez.’
I nod, awkward as I take another drag. I’m guessing she’s in her early twenties. The leather almost guarantees sex-appeal, but she’s not really my type. Good. We’ll leave well alone then.
‘Are you OK? You were obviously upset back there,’ she starts.
‘And it’s your business how?’
‘Yeah, kinda hard to ignore?’ She looks like she’s challenging me to disagree.
‘You deleted my fucking photo. What gave you the right?’
She shrugs. ‘I guess I was just taking the heat out.’
‘You reckon? Some kind of peacekeeping force, are you?’
She grinds her fag out with her pink boot, then looks up. All baby-faced despite the nose-ringed tough girl stance. As in big blue eyes and big round cheeks, button nose and pouty lips.
‘OK, it was spur of the moment, right?’ Is there a chink of shame behind the pout? ‘You were on to a loser with him there, I was like caught in the middle.’
‘You had literally no idea what was going on.’
‘So, I came after you to see if you were alright, offer you a lift?’ She pats the seat of her bike. I don’t know a lot, but it looks well handsome, all shiny chrome and black paintwork.
‘Nice bike,’ I say.
‘Goes a frigging dream on these roads. Go on, let me take you to where you’re staying at least.’
She switches on the ignition, gives it some revs as the engine roars. I’m tempted. It’s only a couple of miles, it would be fun. She un-straps the spare helmet, cocks her head like a question.
‘I’ve like never been on a motorbike before, I don’t know what to do,’ I say, lame as fuck.
She shoves the helmet at me. ‘Sit like a sack of potatoes. Hang onto me. Relax. You don’t have to do anything.’
She gives the bike some more revs. The air fills with shimmering exhaust. I stand frozen between excitement and fear.
‘I’ll take it slow, I promise,’ she shouts over the noise.
Fuck it, why not? I pull the helmet on, fiddle with the fastening. She comes to help me, her face squashed up in her helmet. She fixes the buckle and pulls the strap tight.
‘OK, where to?’
