Page 91 of Prove You Wrong

‘I need a bit more time to sort Helena.’ I take another bite of my cheesecake.

‘Why can’t you take her to a garage like a normal person?’ She scrunches her nose in disgust.

‘Because I can fix her.’ I don’t add it would cost a fortune we don’t have. ‘The bus won’t do you any harm.’

‘God help you if you tell me it’s character building.’ Chloe narrows her eyes at me. ‘I might see if Jamie can pick me up.’

‘Chloe, it’s not great to be so reliant on other people. Besides, Jamie’s college is on the other side of town. He probably won’t have enough time.’

She huffs and taps out a text and I don’t need to read it to know she texted Jamie anyway. When she chucks her phone on the table with a huff, I can imagine his response too.

‘I’m off to bed.' I gather up the dirty crockery from our unexpected pudding. ‘Make sure you give yourself enough time to get ready in the morning.’

She grunts in response. I’m not sure if I prefer teenagers monosyllabic or loquaciously insulting.

The lack of little blue ticks shows my text to Nate is still unread. Lying in bed, I send a goodnight message and try to squash down the feeling something’s wrong.

Not a paranoid what-if-he’s-not-interested kind of wrong. But a what-if-something’s-happened-on-his-motorbike kind of wrong.

This started out as me worrying about Chloe getting attached to a guy I bring home who ends up leaving like all the others. And now I’m worried he’s going to leave us another way.

Nate

Hearing Chloe saying I was ‘Ella’s boyfriend,’ almost made my chest explode. In a good way. Phrases keep popping into my head like, ‘This is my girlfriend, Ella.’ Sounds pretty fucking sweet.

As the noise of the engine roars in my ears, I can’t help but shout out a whoop as I hit the open road. This isn’t just the elation of proving her wrong, that became a moot point a while ago. This is about the fact that it feels right.

Riding my bike while riding on this high is like a drug.

Not wanting this trip to end yet, I take a tour around some country backroads. I shouldn’t meet much other traffic this time of night and the beauty of riding in the dark is that other headlights give you an early warning something is coming. Pushing my bike to the speed limit, I give Betty the run she deserves, it’s been all work and no play for her recently.

I chuckle to myself. Fuck. Ella’s boyfriend? I amallin.

Despite the darkness, my headlight gives a good strong beam, turning the hedgerows a bluey-grey rather than the green and brown they usually are in December. Rounding the country lanes, and up and down hills, I see a single beam in the distance and wonder if I know the other rider. They’re coming my way, dipping out of sight again as the road snakes through farmland and behind hedges. I wonder if they’re out celebrating some good news, too, or maybe they just need to feed their soul.

Hurtling round the nextcorner, I swear under my breath and ease off the throttle, trying not to send the bike into a skid.

Careering towards me is an old banger with a headlight out, not another bike at all.

Fuck.

I force myself to keep calm, keep my eyes open and guide Betty through the gap between the car and the hedge that’s a little too close for comfort, all the while slowing the accelerator down. If my training has taught me anything, panicking right now would be a sure-fire way of ending this night in catastrophe.

The car’s horn blares as if to shout at me for being in the wrong.

Check your fucking headlights, prick.

Remembering to breathe, I push myself to continue my journey, rather than turning and chasing that fucker down and giving them a piece of my mind.

I stop at a T-junction and, with no one in my rear-view mirror, take a moment to catch my breath. That could have been horrific. With Ella’s words about bikes being death traps ringing in my ears, I decide to head to my brother’s pub, at a much steadier pace.

My pulse is still hammering when I get to The Bull. My brother scowls at me when I walk in.

Geoff and Pauline are perched at the bar and I wander over to them, swapping greetings. Noticing their drinks are full and they don’t need a top up, I choose to sit next to them, preferring their company to my grumpy brother’s.

‘What’s up with you? You’ve got a face like a slapped arse,’ I say when Scott comes over.

‘Is that any way to treat your brother who’s coming to offer you a drink? Which you could get yourself, you know.’ He swipes his fringe back off his forehead with a jerk. ‘And while we’re at it, you don’t look too peachy either.’

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