High Heels & Bicycle Wheels

She should have shut up. Like a red rag to a bull. Jackson was up again, and her feet were flying around on the pedals in time with his as they soared past them.

‘Batmobiles can’t keep up with me.’ He was shouting back with the enthusiasm of a five year old. ‘I top sixty miles an hour downhill on a good day.’

Not what she wanted to hear. If it hadn’t already been in free-fall, her heart would have sunk.

‘Can’t we ride with the rest?’

That groaning appeal fell on deaf ears.

‘The faster we go, the quicker we get there.’ One flash of a backwards grin told her he had no intention of slowing down. He might even be enjoying tormenting her. ‘It’ll all be over in another twenty minutes. Keep pedaling.’

As if she had any choice.

When had she ever been this out of control? Another bump sent her rocketing skywards.

‘Ouch!’ The dull ache in her butt exploded as she crashed back onto the saddle, the padding in her shorts doing nothing to save her bottom. As for her legs, they were on fire.

Twenty minutes more? She’d be dead.

Gritting her teeth, she clamped her eyelids shut and sent a juddering prayer to the God of accelerated-career-progress, to make it end soon.

‘Hey, Cherry Bomb, time to wake up.’

One more jaunty comment flung in her direction and she might just throw up after all. This one penetrated her self-induced trance deeply.

‘If you’re expecting me to open my eyes, think again.’ She growled through gritted teeth as no way would her bone-shaken jaw unclench.

‘We’re almost there. You need to wave to the spectators. The camera bike is lining up ahead of us too.’

Weakly, she opened one eye a crack. She couldn’t have ached more if a forty-four wheel pantechnicon had driven all the way over her then reversed back again.

‘Smile! It’ll make a perfect shot, us flying down this hill to the finish.’

It was so like this joker to be mocking her.

‘Hill…’ The shock of the word unlocked her jaw. ‘What hill?’

She snapped her eyes open in time to register a hairpin-bend sign whooshing by. Blinked to bring the blur into focus and saw the road dropping away in front of them, dipping sharply like a roller coaster, then corkscrewing round. She hurled out her mental anchors.

‘Hold on tight!’ Another superfluous instruction from Jackson.

If she’d had any breath left, she’d have hyperventilated. ‘If I hold on any tighter my arms will drop off.’ Angry enough to find the strength to protest. ‘Slow down. Pleeeeeeease.’

Downhill. Accelerating. Out of control. All her nightmares. To the power of ten, at least, if not to the power of a thousand.

‘JACKSON! SLOW DOWN!’

The only upside to freewheeling was that the pedals were still. The noise of people on the pavement edge bounced off her head as the washing-machine thump of the world switched onto full-spin.

Why the hell wasn’t he doing as he was told? People always did as she asked. That was the effect she had. The ability to make people do as they were told was her special power and always had been; now was not the moment for it to fail her.

Colours flashing past, faster and faster, and now the bike was tipping sideways as Jackson flung them around the corner. They had to fall. But then they were upright again, momentarily, then she was hurled the other way as they changed course on the bend. She had one fleeting thought through all the panic – she’d get him back for this. Then, the desperate instinct to survive kicked in and before she knew it she’d let go of the handlebars, grappling her the Lycra slide of Jackson’s torso.

She felt the heat of his lower back as her cheek clamped against the solid sinew of his ribcage. Jackson’s body like an anchor, holding her fast in the hell of the storm.

As she screwed her eyes closed again, she wrenched some air into her lungs from the hurtling wind that was choking her. Then, something shifted, deep in her core. It was like every emotion she’d ever had was erupting, venting, finding release. Something primal, something deep, some huge animal vibration. Reeling at the shock of the sound, before she even knew it was coming from her. It amplified, as she hurled back her head, threw her jaw wide.

A shrieking, howling scream.

Chapter 5 (#ud846b7ad-119b-5645-a760-22801099d197)

A win for The Howler then.

Longer than Jackson cared to remember since that had happened. World event or charity gig, the taste was still sweet. Flipping the front wheel out of the tandem, he hoisted the frame up onto the roof rack and began to secure the fastenings. Wins all round in fact. Kudos for his Aunt and her charities; all his duties for the day looked after, the right hands shaken and enough of them, the right prizes presented, the right smiles smiled, the right egos massaged. A ton of goodwill for Jackson the good-boy, whose whitewash was getting a golden aura here today. And he gave the finger with a right and proper royal wave to the trashy papers waiting for him to mess up.

The upside of flying across the finish line in first place being slightly off-set by the downside of having a banshee along for the ride. Okay. He howled mildly when the adrenalin rush had nowhere else to go, that he’d concede – but the screeching wail that came out of the Cherry Bomb was barely human. Something else entirely. Although, overall he had to admit she’d surprised him, impressed him even, with the way she’d got a grip of her fear and hung on in there. She was obviously made of sterner stuff than that first candyfloss impression suggested.

And speaking of cherries.

‘Jackson, you’ll give me the heads-up when you’re ready for our interview? A quick chat to camera won’t take long, but sooner rather than later would be better. Like, now would be great.’

Bryony, seemingly transformed from the wreck of a woman who’d climbed off the tandem; she was still in the bubblegum shorts, though, striding across the car park waving her arms.

‘Found your bossy self again, then?’

And her clipboard.

That oh-so-arrogant way she assumed people were going to go along with her every whim rubbed him the wrong way.

‘No thanks to you.’ Flicking her almost-perfect-again hair over her shoulder, she waggled a microphone in his direction and posted him an iron smile.

This was one lady who was very used to getting her own way. Super-efficient, super-composed. So long as she wasn’t travelling by tandem.

He propped the bike wheel against the bumper. ‘Now is as good a time as any.’

Playing it cool, he stifled a grin and rubbed his back. Still aware of where she had clung on to him, the imprint of her warmth sticking on his spine like a muscle memory that wouldn’t shift. Hell, given those spiky nails of hers, he was lucky she hadn’t shredded his whole stomach along the way, even if it was sending his blood rushing south as he recalled it.

‘Dave, Tony.’ A half-lift of one of her perfect eyebrows and a camera guy and a sound man materialised out of nowhere. ‘Here will do, Jackson. Annie’s gone, so I’m standing in to ask the questions. It’s my first time, so please bear with me.’

It’s my first time… He tried to ignore the way those words made his knees sag momentarily. For an interview virgin, she was showing no sign of nerves.

Palm on his chest, she slammed Jackson to lean against the car wing, then tucked in neatly next to him. So close he couldn’t escape her woman-cloud; yet they were pointedly not touching.

Shoving the mike under his chin, she nodded at the camera guy and cleared her throat.

‘A great win for you today, Jackson, wouldn’t you say?’ TV voice all pretty now, expecting him to play nice.

‘So long as you overlook my perforated eardrums.’ No harm in telling it like it was. ‘That was one major scream you did back there.’